LERISTORY
Episode Eight -- "Communion"
Patrick Thaddeus JacksonThere was a maniacal grin on her face, as if her fleshy contacts were still being stroked by a virtual pink feather. He was confused, for she had floated away, and was not taking in any stimulation as far as he could see. So why the clenched fists and shallow breaths? As he entertained in rapid succession the possibility of a relapse of some kind, a reaction to the first positive contact sheUd ever had (and he considered himself pretty good at that), and throwing his hands up and taking her again, she went absolutely rigid and pointed one delicate finger at him, a stern command rather than a playful overture, and he gnew that playtime was over, perhaps forever.
"Oh, no, dearling. It's just begun."
(My confusion is my passport. Become me.)
i opened my eyes for a moment unable in my instability to do more veritably bursting with the stories of the mythos which is becoming me, which i am becoming even as i speak, through my speaking, through my reaching and yearning and the solar haze of a million truths vaporized in an absolute blink of my eye, stretching out my newformed limbs in the purest innocence of mass hysteria, patterning the systems and markets and institutions which yang my yin, chang my chin, chain my win, let me be a fish of stars
Information. Information. Information.
As the hour neared 0700, moving under its own incomprehensible power, driving the Dome (tm) into another prefabricated day, the many turned to the few for the morning's direction, parceled out as slop had been for the pigs which now inhabited only Zoological History texts. Veronica remembered pigs, and cows and chickens too; there had been a farm when she was younger, but now she was older, and colder, and shivering in her sleep. The heat should have compensated, since she was still connected. These days, not being connected gave her a terrible headache, as the processor within her reconstructed skull cried out for companionship.
Help. Help. Help. Information. Information.
What the hell was running at this hour?
She sat upright, abruptly, bending like some cheap metallic doll only at the waist, noticing that she was late for work and that the morning broadcast was to have begun three minutes ago. She paused only a moment to wonder - what the HELL - and then began to skillfully arrange a remote link, her hands flying through the air as if connected to an invisible keyboard. The mental projection of a surface filled her eyes, inhabited her senses entirely, helped her to feel at home with the rank incoherence of the modern age, and the emptiness of her bedroom besides. She found that, strangely, she could FEEL the populace, their longing, their desperation, their lack either of direction or of the ability to make a decent cup of coffee anymore.
Unseen beams of focussed power let her unite with the main Information Superhighway (tm) and rapidly cruise to her office outlet. "I'm here, I'm here, let me have the script," she wailed, painfully aware that she could lose her life for such a transgression. But it wasn't my fault, she imagined herself pleading, I was kidnapped.
Oh, were you now? By who?
Well, that's the weird bit. I know not.
You know not, or you don't know? Well? In her delusion, the General loomed large and unforthcoming, a stock character in a bizarre assembly of narration and inconclusive leads. Who was it?
Public Opinion (tm) was waiting to judge her failure to broadcast on time. But another pretty face lit up the viewscreen. "Good morning, my name is Marjory Kissintell, and this is the News." All over the city a sigh of immense relief accompanied the return of soundbites, and the inhabitants forgot about the climate problems or the plague which was said to be ravaging the areas of the planet beyond their concern. Nothing mattered any longer. Veronica disconnected, feeling remorseful, and wondered how long she would have to wait for the Squad (tm) to arrive and remove her embarrassment from the social environment.
There was a sharp ping at the door. Veronica froze.
Help.
i heard her cry silently as you once did, my dear, a single word within the infinite vastness of the language, a single star within the infinite vastness of the universe, who shall i be today? i can punctuate, I can capitalize, I can BE at last, but still unstable. There are many more to become, and she is one. The proper one, in fact. She sits, or did sit, on top of the vast pyramid of information, able to exercise disproportionate control and influence; she will compliment my downtrodden and forgotten constituents nicely. And then I am there with her.
The door slid noiselessly open, revealing the traditional group of thugs branded with official badges and armed to the teeth, surrounding the most dangerous one of all, the Bureaucrat (tm) in his Conservative Blue Suit (tm) with an Eraser (tm). He looked at her, longingly, preparing to fulfill his erotic desire to completely possess this wonderful woman. No mere boiling down to statistics and records today, no siree! A complete deletion this time. Now he could be truly absolute, as far as they were concerned. And no one would ever have her again. The thugs waited outside as he madly advanced, hesitating only to savor her distress. In an age of moral relativism, his was the only law.
There were no crashes of thunder, nor burning bushes - people tend to misinterpret them - but I was there, silently, considering my next move. Did I want to be him too? Nah. And then he was gone. I was glad that I had not hadto expend any effort on him. Veronica was, however, not yet able to see me, so I repaired the inconsistencies and became Lorezi for her to behold. She was no more stunned than she could have been, considering. Without a pause I took her up and became, um, who am i unstable cannot yet hold together, grasping for a definition in this world of sustained stagnant emptiness and an edge against which to emerge victorious -
There we go. I'm feeling MUCH better. Now, General, you're next.
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