SteveJordanBooks.com

Encephalopath

by

Steve Jordan

Self-Improvement

The first thing the simulator software invariably did when any user asked for a pedestrian flow simulation, was to display a massive table of numbers, scrolling by faster than the human eye could isolate, much less actually read. As the numbers tumbled down the screen, Glen Jansen sighed and once again wondered exactly what idiot designed it to do that. And once again, he stopped short of actually asking, as he realized once again that he really didn’t want to know.

After fifteen or twenty seconds, the numbers disappeared, to be replaced by a projected image of the new Fetters Grand Mall. Glen quickly brought his concentration back, blinking to properly focus on the display. The projection tank covered only a two-meter-wide space in front of him; but its resolution was tight enough to allow the viewer to easily recognize every bit of the five thousand square meter area represented by the ten floors of the mall.

Slowly, the simulation began to fill with tiny colored icons that entered from innumerable side accesses and alcoves, and began to swarm together. These icons represented people, the workers and residents of Franklin-Laurent, as they entered the new mall. They were represented in various colors, suggesting over a dozen different kinds of people, and most of them were grouped when they entered the mall. But as they entered, they fanned out, each one or group headed for different simulated destinations; and soon began to converge, their numbers and colors mixing in lines, curves and swirls. Soon the distinct groups of colors became a muddy grey in the centers and pastel mixes around the edges. But although the overall impression was “muddy,” a viewer could still make out distinct patterns of movement throughout the space.

There were six people around the projection tank, watching it from all sides. Glen was the closest, hovering over the manual controls to the projector. Three of the others worked with him at Jackson Tuesday, C.A. The fifth was another Nobody from the Mayor’s office, sent down as the Mayor’s eyes and ears on the Fetters project. The Nobody also stared at the projection, but it was clear from his face that he had barely an inkling of the fine details being presented to him. The sixth was a representative from a theatre that was situated in the section of the mall that was now being simulated. She was clearly interested in the simulation, but as she was standing close to Glen, she seemed to spare at least some of her attention on him.

One of Glen’s coworkers pointed to a spot in the projection: The colored dots were smoothly steering through and about an island of padded seating and planters set strategically within a large intersection. Although the projection didn’t make it clear how, the people generally walked around the island in a clockwise direction, in a clearly influenced manner. “Hey, it looks like that seating oasis really did the trick breaking up the traffic, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” another agreed. “That color-polarized tile actually does a great job on crowd direction, Glen.” The moving crowd approached a slow-moving line of people at the entrance to the theatre; but as the oasis had re-directed the crowd, it reached the theatre line at an angle, and effortlessly deflected around it. “And it looks like it’s redirecting past the theatre crowd perfectly.”

Glen nodded with satisfaction. “Wish I had the patent on that tile... it does a great job.”

The Mayor’s Nobody looked where they pointed, and nodded slightly, silently. His eye was caught by a small clot of projected figures as they formed up around a store entrance, but before he managed to speak, the clot was already breaking up as if it had never happened. “What happened there?”

Glen looked over to the spot the Nobody indicated. “Hm? Oh... that’s the entrance to a women’s clothing store. They run their own ads on the outside walls, and some of the clothes the women wear...” As he paused, the others exchanged amused glances. “...well, let’s just say they tend to attract young male loiterers. Through the management, we imposed height restrictions on the ad wall, to keep the effect extremely localized. Traffic there never gets worse than that...”

“Unless someday they decide to bring back Nancy Sine as a model,” one of Glen’s co-workers commented. “I don’t care how hard they make it, I’d stare at her for hours.”

The Nobody smiled with everyone else’s smiles, and his was the first to vanish. “How do you know your simulation here accurately takes that into account?”

“On-the-spot testing and observation, added to the basic data on traffic flow, psychological distractions and social impacts already built into the system,” Glen replied with a practiced ease. “If you want, the simulation could tell you what most of those dots had for lunch.”

“Mm-hm,” the Nobody assented. After another moment of watching and lightly nodding his head, the Nobody finally said, “All right. Looks good. Can we have a copy of this sent to the Mayor’s office today?”

“We’ll have it forwarded this morning.”

“Good. Good. Great job. Thank you, everybody. Mr. Smead wants you all to know you’ve got his appreciation. Have a good day.”

The Nobody smiled, nodded to everybody, and strode out of the office with as much dignity as any Nobody could maintain. Everybody smiled and wished him a good day, with about as much sincerity as any self-respecting worker could give a Nobody. When he was gone, the atmosphere abruptly changed.

“Gee... what a nice putz,” John Terek said in a good stage whisper.

“Ah-ah,” Rick Ranon said, putting up a bony finger. “What a nice paying putz.”

“What a nice paying putz who wouldn’t know a good floor layout if he tripped in one.” Lisa Merter walked about the projection, imitating the Nobody’s stance. “Did you see the way he stared at it? ‘Mm-hm... mm-hmm... Okay, you get paid.’ He didn’t have a clue what he was looking at!”

“Well,” the theatre representative smiled, “I know what I’m looking at: A stay of execution from the Mayor’s office.” She turned to Glen and smiled deeply. “If you hadn’t found a way to straighten out that traffic flow, and if the Mayor had forced us to move, it would have cost Deereye Entertainment a fortune. We highly appreciate your work.” She quickly inclined her head around the room. “All of you. Thank you so much.”

“Glad to be of service, Miss Jardin,” Rick said. “Should we send you a copy of the file, too?”

“That’s all right,” Miss Jardin said. “My boss would just lose it somehow. I’ll give him a full report and he’ll be happy. But thanks again, Rick.”

The others drifted back to their desks, except for Glen and Miss Jardin. Glen turned to her and said, “We’ll be going over to the East 105 Bar after work, Daneshi. Join me there?”

“Love to,” she smiled, took his hand warmly, and gave him a peck on the cheek. He watched her as she left the office, and after a moment, turned back to the simulation. He continued to watch the projection, his eye drawn to specific spots here, there, here again, over there. He started to turn the projection off... then caught himself, and found himself staring at it again.

He didn’t even notice when John Terek turned up at his elbow. “Find a cute redhead dot in there?” John’s voice startled Glen, but other than jumping a bit, he went back to examining the projection. “Hey, man,” John continued, “what are you still staring at? Look: We know that intersection by the theater was hairy, but you did a great job straightening it out! Look at how good everybody’s moving there...”

“Right now, sure,” Glen admitted with a shrug. “But it’s still going to get bad during special shows that run into the end-of-day business rush. That area’s never going to empty out in time.”

“It would have been ten times worse if you hadn’t fixed it,” John pointed out. “Extending the marquee to redirect traffic fifteen feet further out was inspired, man. The only way you’d do better than that, would be to make the Mayor move the theater... which we told him to do in the first place! Now, he can have the theater there, and we aced the flow job anyway. So relax!”

After another moment, Glen started to drift away from the projector. “It could have been better, I’m telling you...” He stopped, turned back, and for a moment John thought he was going to start staring at it again. But Glen said, “Projector off. Send a copy of that file to the Mayor’s office now.” He added a belated “Thank you” to the projector. John smiled again when the projector blanked out, and Glen continued towards the working areas of the office.

The civil/architectural firm of Jackson Tuesday, C.A. was the kind of office that generally had its incredibly busy periods—about 80% of the time—followed by lulls that involved celebration of the latest completed contract, then scrambling to find the next contract. Strictly speaking, the office had already been in the throes of the celebration segment, but had put festivities on hold while the Mayor’s Nobody was around. Upon receiving the high sign that the Nobody had gone, the office was now restarting the party.

As Glen and John rejoined the others, another employee handed both of them glasses of wine. Rick Ranon turned as they walked up. “There you are! John: Tell me Glen isn’t still moping over that theater intersection.”

“Wish I could, boss...”

“I’m not ‘moping’,” Glen smiled, but Rick was already draping an arm over his shoulder.

“Glen! The intersection is beautiful! No one could have done better—especially since it was a pretty dumb spot to put a theater anyway!” Everyone roared their agreement, and Rick waited for the laughter to subside. “But you handled it, and made us all look good. You even got a date with the theatre rep! Can’t beat that! So,” he pitched his voice so everyone could hear, “here’s to the Fetters Grand Mall theater intersection, which shall hereafter be referred to in these circles as Jansen’s Folly!”

The office roared at that, too, and Glen relented as everyone else raised their wine glasses and mock-saluted him.

The rest of the day was spent in that generally jovial mood, although some people drifted back to their desks and puttered around with small tasks as the day went on. Eventually Glen drifted back over to his workstation, with a drink in one hand and a plate of pizza and finger foods in the other, and spent some time filing away some of the bits and pieces of the Fetters Grand Mall job in the office database. As they approached the end of the day, the office’s noise level slowly dropped... some workers drifted on home early, with nothing else to do... and Glen’s mood slowly shifted from satisfied, back to his earlier thoughtful state.

Before the end of the day, he came to a decision. This one had nothing to do with the mall intersection, however. He thought of a name, and mentally highlighted it. He waited about five seconds, then heard a voice in his head: “This is The Richmond Head Connection. Good afternoon, Mr. Jansen.”

Glen nodded to himself and said aloud, “Hi. I’ve decided. I’ll buy it.”

“Very good, sir. We’ll initiate the order now.”

“Told ya he was over it. He’s already spending his bonus.”

Glen looked up when he heard Rick behind him, and realized John was also in tow. “Bonus? Since when do we get bonuses?” John feigned alarm. “Why didn’t someone tell me about bonuses?”

“Why do you think? So we could spend your share!”

John edged his head close to Glen and whispered, “What’d you buy? Sound system? No... Wallscreen! Right?”

“Or maybe buying a gift for that little theatre rep?” Rick crooned into Glen’s other ear.

“No, no, and no,” Glen replied.

“Come on, what is it?” John cajoled.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Glen replied.

“When?”

Glen leered at Rick. “When I take it out of my expense account.”

~

Franklin-Laurent was fairly typical of the many spacescrapers that now dotted the North American continent, much of Eurasia, and more isolated spots throughout the world. Based on the Arcology concept pioneered by Paolo Soleri in the 20 th century, spacescrapers were immense structures that provided all the needs of a small- to medium-sized city, including housing, businesses, government facilities, entertainment, its own power generation, and utilities, in a centralized and very efficient package. Its vertical design, extending both deep underground and almost a mile high, meant that a large population could live on a small parcel of land—Franklin-Laurent was only three miles in diameter—and leave the surrounding countryside free for parks, farmland or just plain natural growth.

‘Scrapers were one of the solutions intended to stem the wasteful use of energy and the destruction of the ecosystem in and around human populations, and in many areas, had replaced open cities altogether. In much of North America, most of the old, decaying open cities were abandoned and cannibalized to provide structures and materials for the ‘scrapers. Although a few of the oldest or largest cities remained, like New York city, essentially unchanged, such cities had become the exception instead of the rule.

Glen propped his feet up on the edge of a low planter on the open balcony of the East 105 bar (as the name suggested, it was located on the eastern quadrant of the 105 th floor), and leaned his chair back on its hind legs. From his vantage point at the balcony, he could see almost an entire third of the interior levels within the core of Franklin-Laurent. And since that included three parks, a suspended mall on 115, the Hancock gardens on the 126-130, three of the nine sculptures that filled the central shaft, and the interior ring of the ‘scraper, that was saying something.

John Terek sat in an identical position to Glen’s right. Rick Ranon sat to John’s right, leaning forward on his seat, looking down upon the lower levels of Franklin-Laurent. Because of their height, Rick could not see as far downward as John and Glen could see upward... on the other hand, he could make out more people from his vantage point—especially women—and that suited him just fine.

As Glen admired the view, there was a familiar signal in his head: “Is it that you don’t want to tell Rick?” He smiled to himself, and looked over his shoulder... John was looking back at him with a knowing grin, eyebrows raised in expectation of an answer.

Glen simply shook his head and said aloud, “Nope.”

“Well, Christ, then!” John laughed and brought the front legs of his chair back down to earth. “Come on, man... tell us what you bought!”

Rick looked over at them. “Are you still on about that? Leave ‘im alone, John! If he doesn’t want to tell you, he doesn’t want to tell you.”

“Well, aren’t you curious?”

“Heck, no,” Rick replied, smiling and seemingly concentrating on a trio of girls walking two levels down on the opposite end of the interior. John eyed him curiously for a few seconds. Then his expression changed to understanding, then surprise.

“You had to okay the expense purchase... you already know what it is!”

Rick looked back to John, with an exaggerated grin spreading under his bushy mustache.

John howled, drawing looks from other patrons. “No fair—he already knows! Why won’t you tell me?”

“Probably,” Lisa Merter said, walking up behind them with a refreshed drink, “because they knew they’d push your buttons just like they’re doing now.” She bent over and kissed John’s crown, then sat down next to him. “All right, Glen: Stop teasing John. You know he has a low tolerance for conspiracies.”

“I can’t help it,” Glen replied. “He’s so much fun to mess with.”

To Glen’s left, Daneshi Jardin, the theatre rep, sat eyeing all of them with an amused expression. “Do you all always carry on like this? How do you get any work done?”

“Because we’ve been working together for almost ten years,” Glen replied.

“Since school,” John added.

“Right,” Rick said. “I was their teacher for four years. I taught them everything I know.”

Glen, John and Lisa simultaneously chimed in with, “And we promised not to kill him for it as long as he keeps paying us!”

Before anything else was said, Glen was aware of another incoming signal, which he allowed. “Mr. Jansen, I’m Connie of Head Connection Delivery. I’ve got a delivery for you, and if I could get directions to your location—?”

Sure, I’m at the East 105 Bar, Glen replied, and sent out a beacon for the caller.

“I’ve got it... I should be there in a minute or two.”

Thanks, Glen sent back, and brought his attention back to his friends. Daneshi seemed to be content hanging out here with him and his friends, so there was no rush going back to his place with her yet. The two of them had been casually dating since they had met at the beginning of the theatre intersection job, and now that the project was over, and potential liabilities were no longer an issue, they both looked forward to spending more serious time together. Glen winked at Daneshi, who grinned knowingly back at him. John and Lisa were happily teasing each other, and Rick continued to watch the girls across the way.

Rick’s attention was suddenly drawn to something a few stories down. “Look at that,” he said, leveling a finger downward, and the others craned their necks to see. Across the open shaft of the ‘scraper, two men were being grabbed by uniformed officers. They were in front of a storefront that advertised children’s pets, and they could clearly see that the front window had been spray-painted with the words, “Gene Rejects Sold Here!”

“Man and boy,” John mused. “Protestors are getting bolder and bolder every day.”

“I know someone who bought a pet there once,” Daneshi commented. “A rabbit. They didn’t have any problems with it.”

“Well, it’s not like they glow in the dark or anything,” Rick stated. “But I’ve read about genetic test animals that are sold to pet shops after the researchers are finished with ‘em. They might just be incapable of breeding, or have some other trait that no one would see on the outside. But sometimes the genetic changes can shorten their life, or make them sick with age, and suddenly the pet owner’s paying out thousands for special medical treatment and drugs.”

“Okay, that sucks,” John agreed. “But what kind of moron goes out in broad daylight, spray-painting windows like they’re Boson Blue and thinking they won’t get caught?”

“They probably wanted to get caught,” Lisa said. “Probably have some other publicity stunt all set up to get more attention from the media for their protest. Maybe the paint’s made from—”

“Don’t say it,” Glen said. “I haven’t had dinner.”

“Anyway,” Lisa said, “Boson Blue doesn’t vandalize. They’re watchdogs.”

“Same difference,” John shrugged.

“No, it’s not!” Lisa laughed. “Boson Blue is trying to warn the government about someone else attacking America through the web!”

“So they say,” John sneered. “Smokescreen to hide their real intention, to bring down the government themselves.”

Below, the two protestors were now safely subdued. A police cart rolled up, and the protestors were secured in the rear cab. Then the cart headed off, while the arresting officers went into the store, presumably to confer with the owner. Glen and the others finally removed their attention from the altercation across the way, and leaned back in their chairs.

Glen occasionally took a look over his shoulder at the interior of the bar, then back to watching the rest of the ‘scraper interior. Rick looked up at one point when he realized Glen had turned his way. “It’s on the way now, isn’t it?”

Glen nodded. “You are curious, aren’t you?”

Rick smiled. “Sure. I’ve never seen the new linkes. I just didn’t want to give John the satisfaction.”

“You’re a cruel dog!” Glen elbowed him, and took a pull from his drink, just as a voice called out behind them in the bar.

“Mr. Jansen? Glen Jansen?”

“Right here, Connie,” Glen said, extending a hand to catch the delivery girl’s eye. The girl, a waif of no more than twelve, rolled up to him on convertible shoes and stopped smartly beside him. She said in a most professional manner, “Package for you, Mr. Jansen.”

“Thank you, Connie,” Glen replied, taking the package and automatically doing a proximity search for her tipping account. He deposited more than the customary amount for hand delivery, and waited for her recognition of the tip. Connie’s eyes de-focused for a split-second, then re-focused, and she smiled brightly at him. “Thank you, Mr. Jansen!” With another smart turn, she skated off and was quickly lost in the crowds outside the bar. Glen noted with satisfaction the look of approval he received from Daneshi (it was stupid, but girls still loved big tippers), and tried to be nonchalant about it.

“Okay, it’s time to put John out of his misery,” Rick said, turning to face Glen and the package on his lap. “Come on, man, let’s see it.”

“That’s right!” John leaned forward. “Open it up!”

Glen didn’t even bother to feign disinterest, but went right to work on the wrapping. When he had the box open, he reached in and pulled out a credit-card-sized disk with a Head Connection logo, above a stylized icon that illustrated a human brain with a rectangular screen imprinted upon it, on one face. The opposite face of the disk was imprinted with the single line: “SEE-AV-CMSP-v01.”

“A new linke?” John said, his enthusiasm visibly lagging. “I didn’t know there was anything wrong with your old one.”

“There wasn’t, really,” Glen said, holding the disk up to the light. “This isn’t just another linke.”

John got a better look at the disk as Glen held it up. Most prominent was a slight off-center oval bulge on one side, perhaps doubling the disk’s thickness. “What’s the lump?”

“That’s the new part,” Glen replied. “This is the new audio-visual linke.”

John’s eyes widened as he stared at it. “Wo-ow,” he finally whispered. “I heard about those, but I didn’t know they were available on the market to regular people.”

“It’s only been on the open market a few weeks,” Glen replied. “It’s still a bit pricey for just anyone to buy.” He stole a glance at Rick and grinned. “But then, that’s what expense accounts are for!”

“Too true,” Rick admitted.

“Hey!” John protested. “I know you just didn’t give him that because he said ‘pretty please’!”

“Oh, no,” Rick replied quickly. “Glen made a good case for it.”

“Yeah?” Lisa leaned forward and cocked her head expectantly. “This I’ve gotta hear.”

“Yeah. Enlighten, please.”

Glen considered a moment, as he continued to examine the disk. “Well. It goes back to the lobby I did for the Pierce Supply offices. I was never satisfied with the job I did on it... the traffic flow there was never right, you know? And then the 90th floor art gallery... same thing. Lately, I just haven’t been able to really nail those spaces the way I used to. And now with the Fetters Grand Mall Theater—”

Daneshi said, “But you did a great job with our traffic problem! I don’t understand.”

Glen shrugged and said, “Well, I did all right with it— I mean, don’t get me wrong, I did solve the problem. But it could have been better... I know I missed something that would have made it better. And what I think it was—on all those jobs—my perspective. Literally.”

“What does that mean?” John asked. “I mean, you were able to go see each site! You used our simulators to do a ‘walk-through.’ What else do you need?”

“Well, all that was well and good,” Glen admitted. “But I’m talking about my perspective. When I worked on those designs, there was something else I wanted to accomplish that, well, just didn’t seem to happen. I feel like there was something...” He paused, searching for the right way to explain, and finally started tapping his forehead. “Something, up here, that I was trying to get into the design. But I never quite managed it.”

He held up the disk. “That’s where this comes in. I’m hoping it’ll allow me to more easily and directly translate my visual ideas into my designs, without losing anything in the translation. I think it’ll make my designing better.”

Lisa listened to Glen thoughtfully, and even John seemed to be considering the possibility. Finally they looked to Rick, who shrugged.

“The idea sounds intriguing to me. And if it turns out to be something that improves Glen’s design work, then all the better for Glen... and for the firm. So I said yes.”

“Cool blue,” Lisa said. “You’re going to be part of the bleeding edge! So, when do you start using it?”

“Well, I need to take training classes to begin with,” Glen explained.

“Uh-oh,” John intoned. “Back to training school!”

“Yeah. They say it’s so different, you’re starting all over again. I have to relearn linkes from the beginning.”

“Back to training school,” Daneshi repeated, reaching out and pinching Glen’s cheek. “That’s so cute!”

“Yeah,” John laughed. “He’ll be the one in the back of the room, drinking beer, while the other kids are drinking milk!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Glen laughed, and put the disk in his pocket. “It’ll be private sessions, kiddies.”

“Even better,” Rick chided. “Private class... those old ‘teacher’s pet’ fantasies are always better after a few decades’ maturation...”

“Now you’re talking!” John cried, clapping his hands in mirth. “Make sure you take plenty of notes... we will quiz you later!”

Glen, finally getting exasperated at the gibes at his expense, blurted out, “It’s a guy, okay? The trainer’s a guy. So just get those minds of yours out of the sewer!”

The others obediently quieted down, keeping their snickers to themselves, and filled the silence by taking pulls off their drinks. It was Lisa who finally broke the silence.

“A guy, huh? Let me know if he’s cute... maybe I’ll buy one of those things.”

~

Glen and Daneshi had wasted no time shedding most of their clothes once they reached his flat and settled down on the living room sofa. They spent the first part of the evening sharing drinks, then foreplay with each other, with the casual ease of uncommitted intimacy. Daneshi had a noticeable Italian accent which sounded wonderful to Glen... it gave her an air of exotica that went perfectly with her smooth olive-dark skin and straight brown hair. Glen’s features were more north European, with the heavier tan common on Americans, and was as well-toned and trim as she was well-toned and sleek. They were both also very adept at teasing the most heightened responses from their partner, and were playfully intent on demonstrating their prowess on each other.

Eventually, they tuned everything else out and concentrated on each other. Their sexual activities alternated repeatedly from quietly relaxed to animal frenzy, as they worked their way slowly from living room to bedroom, keeping them going until well past midnight. Afterwards, Daneshi accepted Glen’s offer to stay the rest of the night, and eventually they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

They woke together the next morning, and enjoyed another sexual tryst before showering together. Once they were toweled off, Daneshi started to get dressed—which, between the living room and the bedroom, required some hunting and gathering on her part—while Glen went to see what there was in the kitchen for breakfast. He found enough fruit and lettuce for a simple salad, and tapped the hot water dispenser to warm it up for tea. Then he started chopping fruit, arranging the pieces on beds of lettuce on two plates.

Daneshi, now fully dressed, reached the kitchen in time to see Glen finish the salads, and reach for cups for the water. “Mmm, that looks good! Are those peaches in there?”

“Yeah,” Glen nodded. “They just came in two days ago, and they’re pretty good. Tea?”

“Please,” she smiled, and took a plate. She sat on the stood by the breakfast counter and took a bite of salad. “Mmm,” she cooed again. “I don’t do cold breakfasts often. Usually I make eggs and sausage.”

“So do I, sometimes, but not that regularly,” Glen said. “I was raised on cold breakfasts... cereal, fruit, that stuff. Besides, it’s easy.”

Daneshi nodded. “My mom was a kippers and eggs person. She was raised on it, and we didn’t stop until kippers finally disappeared. Then we switched to sausages.” She smiled and took another bite of fruit salad. “We had one of the last big families in our block... my uncle and aunt had died, and we took in our cousins. So there were seven of us eating all that food. Sometimes I think our house single-handedly wiped out the world’s kippers!”

Glen laughed, thankfully just after he’d swallowed a mouthful of tea. “I have it on reliable authority that it wasn’t your fault. Something about a polluted Atlantic Ocean, I heard.”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Daneshi returned the friendly sarcasm.

“Wait a minute... didn’t you say you just moved from Venice? There was nothing wrong with the fish there.”

“Oh... this was before I moved to Venice. My family’s from Sierra Leone. I swear, sometimes I just don’t know how they did it. My parents, I mean. Five of us! I mean, we loved each other, but how they could afford so many kids in one house...”

“Yeah, the taxes alone must have been pretty bad,” Glen agreed. “What about you... ever think about having a kid?”

“I don’t think so,” Daneshi shook her head and shrugged. “At least, no time soon.” She took another bite, and her gaze caught Glen’s new linke on the counter. After a moment looking at it, she nodded at it, and asked between bites, “Do you really think that will improve your... what, your perceptions I guess... and make your flow design work better?”

“Well, that’s the plan,” Glen said between bites of fruit. “I admit, I don’t know how much it’ll help. But I really feel like there’s just... something I’m missing when I’m working on a space design.” He tried to find the right words, considering he wasn’t speaking to someone in the field. “It’s like I’m aware of a space in three dimensions, and I understand the dimensions and all... but I’m not fully comprehending it. I feel like, if I really comprehended the space better, I’d be able to refine my design and take much better advantage of the space. You know what I mean?”

“I guess so,” Daneshi said. “Although I can’t imagine how your design in front of the theatre could be any better.” She smiled. “But I could be biased.”

“Always good to hear,” Glen grinned. “Especially from a satisfied customer. You need to get into work soon?”

“Not right away,” Daneshi replied, “but I want to go home and change my suit...” she paused, and Glen guessed correctly that she was checking the time. “...in fact, I need to be going soon.”

Once she finished breakfast and gathered up the last of her things, Daneshi gave Glen a warm hug and kiss. “Call me later. Good luck with your linke.”

A New Linke

Nighttime in Franklin-Laurent was always an interesting transition to Glen. During the day, natural sunlight streamed down from the domed roof, and was reflected and re-directed throughout the interior of the spacescraper. At night, when there was no sun, interior lights came on to chase away the darkness. Although it was possible to almost perfectly simulate sunlight, most public spaces chose lighting that enhanced only certain aspects of natural light, such as a particular spectrum, a degree of scatter, or even just a particular color. This allowed lighting to achieve more specific effects in public spaces, and on the public. Its obvious artificiality also presented a clear visual cue that, indeed, it was really nighttime outside... something that was generally accepted to be important to the mental and physiological well-being of the human animal.

Glen stood in a natural alcove formed by the proximity of a display column to a service corridor. The ambient light combined with the space to visually separate the alcove from the rest of the traffic flow, and thereby redirect pedestrians away from it. The people coming and going walked in gentle arcs around the alcove, not really aware of any object or lighting effect forcing them to adjust their direction to get around it.

Glen had specifically designed it that way. He’d used the same design in an office sector last year, and it worked there, too. The alcove allowed him to stand there, out of the traffic flow, and take in the entire space undisturbed. It was handy for people who needed a secluded place to observe a traffic area or particular office or storefront. For Glen, it was also a nice way to simply watch people, without blocking traffic, feeling like a voyeur or sticking out like a sore thumb.

Across from the alcove was the Fetters Grand Mall entrance, immediately adjacent to the Fetters 16 Theater, and the entire space Glen had just finished designing. He idly wondered if he should see if Daneshi was in there, but decided against it. Although he liked Daneshi, he wasn’t really in a dating mood that evening, and it would be strange (at the very least) to say hello the evening after their date, then pass on getting together that night...

He had a fairly unobstructed view of the two entrances, and the people coming in and out of both. He suspected one of the Mayor’s nobodies might have even stood at this same spot and observed the same thing... though, when he thought about it further, he didn’t really think the Mayor’s nobodies would be sharp enough to discover this alcove, and probably would have set up a desk and chair in the middle of the floor to stare at the theater doors. If they had bothered to come down and look at all.

At any rate, Glen could at least say he verified that the crowds did indeed do what the simulations said they would. He watched as people coming out of the theater merged as smoothly as could be expected with the Mall patrons, and more people entering the theater. Traffic flow for both Mall and theater seemed to be disturbed only slightly, even at the main point of traffic concentration. This was because the surrounding lighting, patterns in the floor tiles and various visual cues acted on peoples’ sense of direction on a mostly-subconscious level, and tended to disperse the crowds as they entered the main space, creating a wider and more diluted wave of pedestrians passing around each other. Glen had put those tiles, lighting and visual cues there, to achieve exactly that effect. And it seemed to work like a charm.

Almost. There were still a few occasional clots of people, there... there, distracted by the animated display by the clothing store entrance... and there, next to the help kiosk, which officials always insisted in putting in the most outlandishly stupid places and bottling up traffic around them. Glen watched these problem areas, too, and still he believed he could have designed them better, had he been able to translate some of the visuals in his head to the final plans for the space. But those images had eluded him, as they often did these days. Those bottlenecks were the direct result...

Wait a minute. Glen did a double-take when he realized the animated display wasn’t what it was supposed to be. There was a message on the screen, but it had nothing to do with selling clothing. Instead, a grotesquely-shaped human cowered in a corner, her slightly-orange-skinned body shaking and convulsing. Her head seemed to sport a growth, almost a horn, which protruded clearly past the matted nest of hair on her head. She looked pathetically at the camera, the image centering her eyes and adding the slightest extra light to them to draw more attention to them. The crowds underneath the screen seemed to be pointing and gesticulating at it, and about it, with a strong fervor.

Glen could just catch the voice-over that accompanied it:

“—is the result of ignoring international regulations and carrying out live genome research. Human med-reaction programs are still not perfected, and they must be augmented with strict biomed research procedures, as outlined in the Geneva Genetic Conference. The stigma of melenhancement is nothing compared to the possible side-effects that we risk if we allow—”

And suddenly, the message ended, the screen went blank. There was perhaps a seconds’ silence from the crowd, before they started gesticulating wildly again. Glen could see a few of the crowd had the trademark jet-black skin of the melenhanced, and they in particular seemed to take violent umbrage over the message on the screen. Glen could hardly blame them: The ad had been badly-thought out, and it had been easy to take offense to the way it belittled melenhancement—an unpredictable inherited trait, an unexpected side-effect of improperly tested gene-therapy pharmaceuticals—against irresponsible genetic research. A few others tried to discuss the issue with them, but the melenhanced seemed to take personally the things said on the screen, and for a moment, it appeared as if violence was about to erupt.

Then, the display screen came back on, this time with one of the stores’ standard ads, featuring a model in a one-piece bathing outfit, enjoying herself at a party. Many of the assembled turned to look at the display the moment it was activated, and when faced with the familiar ad, some of them nodded and moved on. Others broke off their conversations to watch the attractive ad, almost as if nothing had happened. An employee from inside the clothing store appeared and attempted to calm down the few remaining people, including one melenhanced and two others, until they began moving off to talk about it elsewhere. A few minutes later, and the pirate ad seemed to be completely forgotten among the remaining crowds.

Glen considered the temporary chaos that the pirate ad had caused, which even he had to admit could have been worse... it was fortunate the store owner had responded quickly and rebooted the display to clear the ad. It was one of the hazards of using electronic displays, which were the most flexible of stationery advertising mediums, but were also naturally susceptible to pirate broadcasts by terrorists or Boson Blue wannabes. Maybe, armed with his new linke, Glen would be able to figure out a way of minimizing a pirate signal’s adverse effects on a crowd... well, then again, maybe not…

He had already lost track of how many times he had reached down into his pocket and fingered the new linke, not to mention congratulating himself on being astute enough to buy one. He was aware that he may have been one of the first people to apply the new device to architecture, which potentially made him a pioneer. He liked that. His work would improve by leaps and bounds, once his linke had access to his visual cortex, and he could see his 3-D designs directly in his head. His space designs would reach new levels, new degrees of subtle complexity and artistic control. This could propel him into the Elite, catch him renown around the world... or, at least, here in the USNA...

If he could get it to work. Glen’s fantasies returned to Earth with a bump, and he shook his head to clear it of such distractions. He looked again at the crowds navigating the space before him. Satisfied that his next work would be worlds better than this, he finally pushed off from the wall, left the alcove, and smoothly merged with the flow of the crowds.

~

“Reminder: Call Rick. Remind him you’ll be in late.” That message whispered in Glen’s head promptly at nine A.M., thankfully, well after he had gotten up. Glen hated to be awoken by linke messages, because he invariably mistook them as by-products of some dream and dismissed them, to his later embarrassment. He immediately paused in mid-bite of his biscuit, and thought: Call Rick at the office.

He took another bite and chewed, while he waited for Rick to pick up the connection. Finally he heard, “Hi, Glen,” at the same time he received the string of ID codes that verified Rick Ranon’s identity, which manifested itself as a subverbal “OK” in his mind.

Hi, Rick. Just reminding you I’m going to my training session this morning.

“Okay,” came Rick’s reply. “Tell us how it goes when you get in. Oh, yeah, and tell Lisa the teacher’s cute... we’re gonna set her up. See you later.”

See you. Glen smiled and closed the connection, and almost immediately, he was aware of another call coming in. The caller’s ID identified him as Dr. Corey Beacham, who was supposed to be Glen’s trainer. Glen opened the connection. Morning, Dr. Beacham.

“Good morning, Mr. Jansen. I’m calling because something has just come up with my schedule... something unexpected, I’m afraid. I won’t have time to do your linke training for at least two weeks.”

Oh... Glen frowned at the prospect of missing out on training. I was just about to leave for your office...

“I know. I realize this is incredibly short notice, for both of us. That’s why I took the liberty of checking with my colleagues, to see if anyone else could pick up your training, at no extra cost to you. And I found someone who could do it.”

Oh... uh, okay, then. Who—?

“Her name is Dr. Ana Delany. She’s not too far from my office... I’m sending you her code and location now.” Glen was aware of the numbers being downloaded into his linke. “She already has your information, and she’s expecting you for the same appointment schedule you had with me. I hope that will be okay with you, Mr. Jansen.”

Glen smiled widely, but made an effort to suppress his thoughts—memories of Rick’s jokes about “teacher’s pet” fantasies—lest something squirt out through the link to Dr. Beacham.

Yes... that sounds fine. Thank you, Dr. Beacham.

“Thank you... and good luck with your training, Mr. Jansen. Good day.”

The connection broke, and Glen continued with breakfast. It didn’t take him long to decide to check up on Dr. Delany, to make sure she was reasonably qualified. And, incidentally, to see what she looked like. He made a professional query, and in a moment, a verbal response was playing in his head:

“Dr. Ana Delany: Professional data follows; degree physician, degree physical training, degree CMSP training, degree remedial and post-trauma physical therapy and retraining. Maintains practice in Franklin-Laurent since 2094. Presently specializes in CMSP training and specialty CMSP training. Certified in AV-series CMSP training. Please provide authorization codes for further social or personal data.”

Well, she certainly sounded qualified enough. Is there a photo with the professional data?

“USNAMA stock photo included on file.”

Download it to this table monitor, Glen directed. Instantly, the screen on the kitchen table displayed a very small, low resolution straight-on photo of Dr. Delany. Thank you, Glen responded. She looked about his age, give or take a decade, for all he could tell... non-smiling, hair pulled severely back and probably tied into a nice professional bun. White jacket over white blouse. He could just imagine her wearing horn-rimmed glasses, if she’d lived a hundred years ago. Couldn’t hold a candle to Daneshi...

He finished up his breakfast, taking the ample time he had to clean up afterward. After a few more minutes puttering around his apartment, he decided to leave, even though he would likely be almost twenty minutes early for his appointment. He gathered up his new linke and a few other things he’d need that morning, and tossed them all into a hip bag as he headed out the door.

The location of Dr. Delany’s office was fairly close to that of Dr. Beacham’s... only a few stories lower, and only one degree off. Glen took the mass escalators down, the easiest way to get there from his level. Once he was riding the escalator platform, he took a moment for some mental calculation: The escalators, given that they traveled diagonally in both directions, displaced you about one degree for every level you traversed (they were actually designed that way, to somebody’s credit). Glen had to go seventeen levels down. If he had to go straight down, therefore, he would need to go down nine floors in one diagonal direction, then reverse his direction and go down the remaining eight floors the other way. That way, he’d be only one degree or less from his destination. But in this case, his destination was about five degrees lower than his starting point (in other words, counter-clockwise). So he needed to go an extra two levels in his first direction, or eleven levels, then reverse the last six, to be within a degree of his destination...

Once he went through all that, he allowed his linke to plot his course. In a heartbeat it provided him with a verbal route that, it just so happened, mirrored the one he’d just worked out himself. He smiled inwardly, knowing it was just an easy way to keep his mind alert. But he also knew most people, when given the same opportunity, wouldn’t hesitate to just let their linkes figure it out.

He rode the escalators silently, leaning against a sidebar and taking in the view. There were a good dozen people sharing his platform, and most of them were paired or grouped off, talking quietly with each other. A few others had the distant expressions that marked them as speaking intently to someone via their linkes... even without visuals, somewhat dicey on an escalator. Glen had seen many a person tripped up distractedly at the end of a mass platform, and the resultant pedestrian jams during busy periods. Of course, if they just had the sense to use their safety markers when they call people from an escalator... on the other hand, if they were going to be that stupid, they deserved to fall anyhow...

Then, of course, he came upon one of those stupid things that tended to trip people up anyway: An animatic ad stationed right at the landing of the escalator. As a traffic flow expert, whenever he saw something so clumsy as a visual distraction at the base of a traffic hub—like an escalator landing—he bristled. What idiot would be so stupid as to decide his adverts are more important that pedestrian flow, or safety? And what other idiot would let him get away with putting it there?

And even worse: This one seemed to be malfunctioning... no. It was under siege. The screen was constantly switching back and forth between an obviously-intended food court ad, and what looked like another pirate ad protesting the storage of nuclear materials in western Virginia. The pirate ad would momentarily assert itself, then it would blink out, to be replaced by the proper ad... then the pirate ad would fade back in over the proper ad, and repeat the process again and again. Escalator riders were all watching the show, mostly in amusement, and many of them were clearly stumbling at the landing because of it. Sure enough, Glen had to backstep to avoid some of them, before moving to the next landing and past the distraction.

Across Franklin-Laurent, Glen could see people on the opposite escalators. He spent some time idly watching a pedestrian that practically mirrored his own progress down the levels, to the last step and posture. His doppleganger also seemed to be admiring the view, and Glen couldn’t help but wonder if the stranger had noticed Glen and was thinking the same thing. As other people came and went, the man on the other side of the ‘scraper continued to ride down, down... how far was he going? When Glen finally reached his level and alighted, he chanced a glance across the way. His doppleganger was continuing down, down. He looked to Glen like he was destined to go all the way to the basements.

He had no trouble finding the doctors’ offices block. A quick broadcast of Dr. Delany’s name brought him an instant response: Room B-12-127. Take the left corridor, turn right at the second intersection. 127 is on the left. Glen followed the instructions, ending up near the end of a fairly long corridor, when he reached room 127. He knocked lightly.

The door slid open a few seconds later. A few paces inside the room, facing the door, Dr. Delany stood. She smiled pleasantly. “Mr. Jansen?”

“Yes,” Glen replied, extending his hand. “How are you, Dr. Delany?”

“Fine, thank you,” the doctor replied, taking his hand with an old-fashioned lady’s lock-armed handshake and giving it a quick, businesslike jerk. Glen was happy to see that she was noticeably more attractive than her stock photo let on. The doctor seemed to pick up on his silent approval, and she dropped her head slightly in acquiescence. Then she calmly let go of his hand and started across what was apparently the anteroom of the office. “Are you ready to start the training with your new linke?”

“Yes, I am,” Glen replied enthusiastically. “I hope there wasn’t any problem taking me on such short notice.”

“You mean Dr. Beacham?” Dr. Delany smiled. “No, it was no trouble. We’ve swapped patients before... we both can get rather busy. I’m just returning a favor I owed him.” She stopped, turned and regarded Glen directly. “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not a bit,” Glen smiled, hoping that he was projecting “pleasantly unconcerned,” or even “mildly satisfied,” rather than “obviously pleased.” Dr. Delany spoke with a soft accent—French? No; Russian, maybe—that was very pleasant on the ear and added to her attractiveness, which was not inconsiderable. He followed her into the training room, basically a small room with a table, three chairs, a monitor screen on one wall and a small device on the table. A window dominated a second wall, but it was opaqued... Glen could not tell if an outside view, or another room, were on the other side. Seeing that he was in a doctor’s office, however, he suspected an observation room.

“Take a seat, any one,” Dr. Delany said as she preceded Glen into the room. He chose a chair at the table, his back to the opaqued window, and facing the wall monitor. Dr. Delany casually noted the chair he sat in as she moved to a small cabinet and rummaged through a drawer. “So you’ve decided to try out one of the audio-visual linkes,” she said in a conversational tone. “How come?”

Glen shrugged. “Personal improvement, I guess. No... make that, professional improvement.”

“Professional,” the doctor repeated. “You’re working for an architectural firm, right?”

“That’s right. My specialty is traffic flow. I just finished a common area in front of the Fetters Mall Theatre, redirecting pedestrian traffic around an evening bottleneck area.”

“Architecture was always an interesting profession to me,” Dr. Delany commented, looking over her shoulder at him. “Part engineer... part artist. How much of you is engineer, and how much is artistic?”

Glen smiled and shrugged again (and, instantly aware that he had just shrugged twice in quick succession, made a mental note to adjust his body language to avoid looking so predictable and stiff... this pretty doctor was already getting to him, he realized). “I suppose I’m... oh, seventy-five percent artist.”

“Ah.” Dr. Delany turned back to her drawer. “Then I imagine the reason you asked for the AV-linke is to augment the artistic side of you.”

“Well, isn’t that what the AV-linke is designed for?”

The doctor turned back to him and smiled. Her eyes looked away, and as if she was reciting from memory, she said: “The AV-linke is designed to provide a visual input and feedback, augmenting the audio characteristics of the linke, in order to give you more comprehensive use of your linke.” She took her hands out of the drawer, closed it, and walked over to the table. In a more personal tone, she said, “What you do with that is purely up to you.”

She emptied her hands on the table. She had brought over a model of a linke, about three times normal size, an antique linke, and a transparent model of a human brain, roughly actual size. Glen took in the models as Dr. Delany sat down.

“Okay. Training includes some background on the linkes. I don’t know how much of this you may already be aware of, but we have to go through the training module before we can start.”

Glen looked dubiously at the models. “Aw, c’mon... isn’t there some... I don’t know, an equivalency exam I can take instead, doc?”

“Ana.”

“Huh?”

“Our training sessions will be one-on-one, Glen. You can call me Ana.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. Ana.”

Ana smiled. “As to your question, I’m afraid not. It’s part of the SEE training program, and we’re not allowed to skip it. I’ll try not to kill you with too much jargon, though.”

“‘Preciate it.”

“Okay.” She picked up the enlarged disk. “The standard Communicator-slash-Memory Storage-slash-Processor. CMSP for short. Colloquially known as a linke. The first such device appeared just before the turn of the century, a very limited version of what we use today, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“Don’t do that, you’ll only slow us down,” Ana chided good-humorously. “The original linkes, generally known as handheld computers, were intended primarily as organizational aides.” She indicated the antique on the table, and Glen picked it up. The device was about as long as his hand, rectangular, and featured a gray screen along about half its length. There were four buttons along the bottom, with tiny iconic images silk-screened on them. One icon seemed to represent an old window... another looked like a paper notepad. He had no idea what the others were. As he examined it, Ana went on: “They included storage space for individuals’ home addresses and personal telephone numbers, simple notes, and time management data... all essentially hard-input notes, which had to be manually accessed and read to be used. They were therefore very limited in their usefulness... at the same time the first linkes were being introduced to the public, a great many people kept track of essentially the same things in paper notebooks. Although there were some supporters of the first linkes, they were not widely accepted by the public.

“The first real breakthrough for linkes came with the advent of IAR, or Intelligent Anticipation and Response systems, in the twenty-teens. This allowed the linkes to do the lion’s share of the work for the first time: Recording conversations and editing them down to relevant information, to be accessed later; providing useful information to the user spontaneously, and in real time; interpreting colloquialisms within its instruction base and responding appropriately; and taking the initiative in collecting and processing information, based on its knowledge of its users’ needs.

“It was during this time that the first research into interpreting actual thoughts for a linke was carried out. Prior to that time, experiments had proven that the brain put out specific signals that, once properly trained, could be monitored and used to direct simple tasks.”

“How simple?” Glen asked.

“On the order of steering vehicles, and providing ‘yes-no’ answers,” Ana replied. “A few military organizations tried to take advantage of those earliest experiments, but they were too primitive to be useful at the time... to anyone but the military, that is.

“Anyway, linkes with IAR were becoming widespread in the 2020s. At that time, businesspeople used two-way radio earpieces to communicate with their linkes. Casual users also used two-way necklaces and eyewear, but eventually earpieces became fairly standard.”

Ana then picked up the brain model. “Not too long afterward, scientists isolated the regions of the brain that directly translated neural signals to speech data, and interpreted incoming sounds as neural input.” She triggered a hidden switch, and Glen could see flickering points of light within the brain model, concentrated in two particular areas. “It was hoped that a linke could be linked directly to these centers of the brain, in order to move data back and forth most efficiently. The few attempts to hardwire those neural connections to external devices invariably failed, however, due to the sensitive and malleable nature of the human brain and the inherent problems of attaching terminals to it. And to date, the public is too uncomfortable with the idea of running wires into their brains, except in an emergency situation... nor was it ever considered efficient, sanitary or cost-effective.”

She put the brain down, its internal lights still flickering. “So people used earpieces for another forty years or so. Then, in 2063, researchers in Aspen discovered a way to direct focused nanowave signals into the human brain from an external source.” She picked up the enlarged linke, and flipped a switch on its side. A flickering light appeared, and Glen quickly noticed that the linke’s light seemed to flicker in synch with one of the forward clusters of lights on the brain model. “The focused-data beam system allowed the linke to send a signal directly to the auditory receptors, which the brain interpreted as sound input. It was safe and non-invasive, and with no external speaker or radio connection needed, it provided one hundred percent privacy for the user. It was applied to the linke once a method was found to maintain focus on the auditory receptors while the interior of the brain and the linke were moving relative to each other.

“It isn’t quite as easy as that, of course. The brain handles auditory signals from multiple points, each receiving different parts of the audio spectrum. It was discovered that sending the signal to one point in the brain’s audio regions created a ‘ghostly’ signal, hard to separate from background noises. So the ‘beam’ used by the linke is actually multiple beams, each sending part of the linke’s signal to a specific auditory region, which the brain then reconstructs and interprets as one signal. The signal is phased intentionally to produce a unique auditory effect, to avoid having it confused with outside sounds, and therefore confusing the user and possibly distracting them. This creates a distinct, yet non-distracting, input that is easy to separate from background noises.”

Glen nodded. “Well, that’s something I didn’t know.”

Ana smiled. “You see? A little background information never hurt anybody. Now... this breakthrough eventually led to a similar beam that could be bounced off of select neurons and detect neural activity through an ‘echo’ of the original signal... hence, the focused-echo beam.” She touched another switch, and now a second light on the linke blinked in unison with the flickering lights on the aft portion of the brain model. “The echo beam was directed at the parts of the brain that direct speech, and it was discovered that users could simply think about a verbal command, and the linke could pick it up. In another seven years, the focused-echo beam joined the focused-data beam in the linke. The linke you use now is the product of that research.”

Ana turned off the linke model, got up from the table, and returned to the drawer. She returned with another linke model. This one had the same oblong bulge as Glen’s brand new linke... otherwise, it resembled the first model.

“The audio-visual linke was created last year by researchers at Barnesdale Labs and Sunia Electronics and Engineering. Their design was based on the latest research at Temple University, three years ago, which pinpointed the regions of the brain that processed visual signals incoming from the eyes. Like the auditory regions, the visual cortex handles parts of the overall visual picture in separate and distinct regions, and reconstructs them later. Experiments in sending signals to single regions resulted in similar ‘ghostly’ images that were always incomplete, or hard to separate from background visual input. Temple researchers finally mapped the visual receptors and their specialities well enough to send a coherent image directly to those receptors via multiple beams.”

She tapped a stud on the new linke model, and as a light started to flash on the model, lights started flashing in synch in the model brain. The lights in the brain fanned out over the rearmost portions of the cortex, in a wavy broken pattern that reminded Glen of the leaves of a rose. “Barnesdale’s people used the Temple information to design the multiple beams and synthesize the appropriate signal,” Ana continued. “Although the beam technology is the same, the process of interpreting visual data, not to mention storing that data for real-time access, required major changes to the processor in the linke. The bulge, incidentally, is made by the new processor… not the new beams.

“Barnesdale and Sunia Electronics and Engineering collaborated on the new design over a two year period. Combining the new visual beam system with the audio beams, and synchronizing them at both ends, was the major hurdle to be cleared. It required some new and different methods of calling up data, and controlling the linke, which is why you’ll undergo a complete retraining to use the new linke.”

“Will I still be able to use audio-only linkes?”

“Yes,” Ana replied, “you won’t ‘lose’ your old training. Research has shown there are some key differences that help the brain to separate one method from the other. Going from one linke to another would be like jumping from one subject to another in a conversation. But why would you want to?”

Glen paused. “Well, just in case this doesn’t work out, and I want my old linke back.”

“Oh. Well...” Ana seemed to deeply consider the possibility, before she replied, “I don’t think you’ll have any problem. The AV-CMSP is already tested and approved by the NAMA, the FDDA, and HEW. I use one myself.”

“You do?”

“Well, of course!” Ana chuckled. “How do you think I became a certified trainer?”

“Right, right... so, how’s yours?”

“I think it’s great,” Ana replied without hesitation. “There are a few tricks I’m still trying to master, as a matter of fact. Working with three-D shapes and such. But I was never an artist.” She nodded at Glen. “You shouldn’t have any trouble in those areas. Then, who knows? Maybe you can help train me.”

Glen let the implications of her last statement dart around in his head for a split second, before he replied, “Sure. I’d love to.”

“Then let’s get started.” Ana stood up from the table again, and slipped off her white labcoat, which she deposited on a hook by the door. Glen took a quick appraisal of her figure before she turned back around, then shifted his attention to her face as she returned. Ana took silent notice of his attention, as she set up the monitor on the wall. Then she returned to the table, and busied herself with the tabletop device. “This will essentially be set up like traditional linke training,” she explained off-handedly. “The main difference will be the fact that the visual training will be handled separately. Since you’ve already had training, most of the audio sequences will be easy.” She finished with the tabletop device and looked at Glen. “Ready?”

Encephalopath e-Book edition is copyright ©Steve Jordan. All rights reserved.