CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"People would like to think that there's somebody up there who knows what he's doing. Since we don't participate, we don't control and we don't even think about questions of vital importance we hope somebody who has some competence is paying attention." - Noam Chomsky
The Watering Hole was a plain brown building weathered as usual for a building of its two or three hundred-year old years; its appearance held nothing to make it remarkable, causing it to blend in with its surroundings.
Desiree used her fingernails to drum on the ancient wooden door so softly it was barely audible. In that next instant when the proprietor of the underground speakeasy opened the door, he saw only Desiree. Harry had disappeared.
"Hi ya, Sam," said Harry's escort gaily. "I have someone I want you to meet."
Sam, a big burly man with fiercely ruddy cheeks, dark beady eyes, and hairy eyebrows joined together on a low furrowed brow that makes him look perpetually angry. That is—until he smiled. His square jaw made him look powerful, but his warm smile revealed his teddy bear demeanor. His grin was so wide it seemed to cover half his face.
"Oh, and where might he be, Darlin'?" His Cheshire grin seemed to grow beyond the bounds of his face.
Startled, Desiree looked to where she last saw Harry, surveys the immediate surrounding area, squinting as she peered into the Shadows. "Dammit!" she muttered under her breath so only Sam could hear.
"Harry? Harry, come out of there," she scolded sweetly. Then, softened her voice even more and almost pleadingly, "No one will hurt you—we're with friends now."
She smiled a gentle, caring smile and waited patiently for Harry as if he was the most important person in the world. At that moment he was truly significant. The coward.
A deeper, more melodious voice came from the massive presence at the door.
"Welcome, Harry. You know, Harry, we've all been where you are. Once you face your fear, it takes only a minute or two to see the good."
There seemed to be a long silence as Harry took it all in. Threat assessment
"Trust me, Harry," the voice insisted. "It's a joyous occasion, and you're welcome."
Harry moved out of the Shadows hesitantly—just enough so he could see in the light. Seeing Sam the second time made him hide again back in the darkness outside.
"Ha...How...many...are...you?" Harry looked at Desiree, who isn't talking. Desiree is letting Harry face his fears.
"Thousands," Sam confided conspiratorially, bending towards Harry who jumped back. "but don't you worry. They're not all here," the burly man said, still grinning from ear-to-ear.
Desiree gave Sam a reprimanding look for his flippant answer.
"Jist about thirty or forty of us rebels here right now," he continued, trying to sound friendly and folksy. He grinned at Desiree and winked. He switched back to standard English. "C'mon in, Harry. Everything's going to be all right. Trust me."
Harry knew it is an historical fact that when someone says, "trust me"—don't. Even Desiree had said it. He knew better. For some unfathomable reason, Harry trusted Desiree who had inched her way to Harry and grabbed his arm. Holding his hand tightly like one holds a child's, she led him into The Watering Hole, which is really more of a ballroom. Harry will smile at this image later and use it in political speeches, but at the moment all he can do is resist mentally. Like the horse being led to water, she can't make me drink, he thought, pulling out one of his historical trivia clichés.
Once inside, Harry found he was instantly and simultaneously, fascinated and repelled by what he saw. So overwhelmed he doesn't see individual faces; he sees a sea of people. He felt trapped, claustrophobic, and nauseous all at once. Fighting the sickness, he focused on the faces, which were each unique and individual.
However, he couldn’t help feeling each one was a threat. To him. To Makr. To PerSoc. Sheer terror that was embedded in every Insider over the years under Makr's total influence. Until now, he had never even given a thought as to how hard it would be to break Makr's hold on the reality he thought was his own.
Inside of the building, Harry saw what must have been used in the old days as a warehouse or factory, now a gathering place for Touchables. There are high ceilings and very few walls to divide the huge space. The gargantuan entry area, in contrast to the building's darker bland exterior, is brightly lit and vibrant; it was obviously decorated by committee, with no central theme except everyone's best guess as to interior decorating. Who knew how to decorate for a group gathering? After all, decorating by changing perception rather than reality was a Makr specialty. The people here had furnished the huge space, haphazardly and eclectically, with whatever family treasured artifacts they could spare from their homes or salvage from the ruined buildings they discovered in the Outside reality. In essence, they had created an indoor village, a commune where they are free to explore and share experiences from the Outside.
For Harry the experience was over the top. It was a kaleidoscope of images, a dazzling array of colors, a joyous cacophony of sounds and a fiesta of aromas—all better than any SensaVision broadcast.
"Well? How do you like it?" Desiree asked Harry whose mouth is wide open again. "Harry!"
Harry froze in the doorway as people, sooo many people, appeared suddenly, standing or sitting up to see him. All were smiling; some are waving. All greeted him in some way. Harry swallowed and took a deep breath. He was determined not to hide, but sincerely wished he could will himself invisible. Fading into the woodwork was impossible.
Inside, even in his highly visible job in SensaVision, he had never had direct contact with any unsanctioned Bio until now; his only contacts other than Desiree had been blessed by Makr at Cyber Match Central. Now this!
Recalling his vid collection, he remembered the Hollywood stars and other celebrities who experienced an overwhelming amount of public contact, some of it good but most of it bad. Now, since public contact was monitored and regulated, there was no such thing as a celebrity by the ancient standards. That is unless one wanted it to be his or her fantasy, then SensaVision happened, but rarely since the results of stardom were so negative. Makr's SensaVision sterile hologram made Harry the closest thing to a celebrity Inside, but the images seen in homes are adjusted to suit the needs of individual viewers, adjusting his look, his voice, eliminating anything that could cause some kind of emotional response. The only difference was that he appeared so different to each individual; he would not be recognized in the flesh—except by Makr, of course.
Thrust into the center of attention, he knew now why SensaVision was safer. His audience was not usually within smelling distance, and the overwhelming bombardment of so many distinct odors made him swoon.
"Harry?"
"It's won...wond....wonderful," he stammered. "I...I...I...help," he pleaded with Desiree.
The entrance began to spin and turn on its axis as he was about to faint. Harry felt Desiree squeeze his hand and pull him further inside the ballroom as Sam went out behind the two guests. Sam checked the area for any clues the two may have been followed. He really didn't want to deal with uninvited cyberts. Upon seeing no threats, he went back in, shutting and locking the door behind him.
At first Harry's response was like a small, timid child. He hesitated and resisted slightly, and given encouragement knew he had to go through with it.
The first wave of greeters seemed normal—Insider normal and rather ordinary to him—like people he was often paired with at Cyber Match Central. Except these people all want to touch—to shake his hand! Some handshakes were firm, some limp, some dry, some wet, some soft, some hard; some people presented drooping appendages or vigorously pumped his arm. In any event, to each individual he met, Harry's handshake was just right. He had passed the first test. Then, all went black.
.
Bright light. Harry's unconscious body winced and squirmed until seconds later a light dimmed enough for him to see a faceless Bio looking down on him. Suddenly, the blank face took on asymmetrical feature
s that were disjointed, unearthly, diabolical, and depraved. The face broke apart in geometric pieces, scattering to infinity. He thought he heard many people talking all at once. Listening intently, he tried to isolate a sentence or two but found it impossible. He was unable to decipher any of the gibberish although it resembled words and language. The gibberish lost its Bio quality and became a deafening horrific machine-made noise. As the noise became more organized, random sounds transform to become penetrating pulsating tones, dominating the less organized ambient noise, eliciting his deepest fears. The dreams were back!
But the expected didn't happen. Harry didn't know to be disappointed or fearful; then he noticed moisture—sweat leaving his body with fountain-like constancy and force. Then, he couldn't stop shivering.
"Harry! Harry! Harry, are you all right?"
Desiree?
He heard pleasant, serene music in the background—totally agreeable music like that created by the cyberserver to soothe Bio psyche. SensaVision was filled with it. He knew most Bio produced music contained individual emotions and moved people too much for their own good. Did it really, or was it just more Makr propaganda?
Thought-blink.
The music stopped while the voices continued.
"Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about." Then a sea of voices engulfed him; everyone in the room seemed to be talking at once.
Harry opened his eyes through a watery blur to see a ceiling of smiling faces set against the backdrop of bright lights. Sam had elevated his head and shoulders with a pillow while Desiree, who knelt beside him, held and patted his hand.
"A little too much openness," Sam said to Desiree.
"Ya think?" she remarked sarcastically and rhetorically.
Sam ignored her remark and looked at Harry to explain, "Our governing council of elders believes in total openness and hiding nothing from each other." Sam turned Harry's head slightly so he can see the elders who stand grouped together across the room. "Overstimulation."
"I noticed," Harry said looking away from the elders who are totally nude. He tried to look at Desiree with a look that said, "Why didn't you tell me?" The very attempt to focus on her caused him to suddenly feel nauseous. He commanded his brain to stop the queasiness and the spinning room, but it's not listening.
"It's simply our response to being confined and isolated," Sam continued to explain. "We tend to do the opposite of some accepted societal norms. Don't worry. You don't have to follow our example if you don't want to. We're all free here."
Sam put on a more serious face to show Harry he meant business.
"We develop in stages here. Some are comfortable in ten minutes, some take months, some never really are, but we all try. We have a lot of conditioning behind us to overcome."
"I...I heard music—SensaVision music."
"That's not possible here, is it?" Someone in crowd asked nervously. "If there's SensaVision, Makr knows," offered another Touchable. The talk of SensaVision agitated and stirred the crowd. Harry and Desiree heard murmurs and accusations. A woman pointed at Harry and shouted to the others, "He must have brought them!"
Desiree sensed the mounting tension of the mob now surrounding her. She knew the mob consisted of good people, nearly all her friends who were anxious to be free as well as safe. She also knew they could never be free if they were not safe. They could never go back Inside. Afraid, they should be, but she needed to do something. Harry needed her, too.
She faced her people, feigning a puzzled look at their mob-like behavior. Smiling, she took his hand again, and with his cooperation this time, pulled him to his feet. "You must have dreamed it, Silly," she said. "We don't allow that kind of thing in here. Only music we have we make ourselves."
She pointed to a group of people clutching instruments about fifty feet away. The instruments appeared to be blocking any attempt at familiarity or forward motion. Almost comically, those with large size instruments wielded them like shields or weapons. After Desiree signaled to the musicians to begin playing, the much relieved crowd hesitated with indecision and then dispersed to join their initial cliques.
"I guess you're right," Harry agreed. "I still don't understand how you can be here without Makr knowing about it."
"That's our little secret for now, Harry." She winked. She had already told him more than she should have, and someone might be listening.
Harry was used to not knowing everything, so little secrets didn't bother him. Instead he marveled at some of what Desiree has said. They make music themselves! For each other! The reason for it he didn't quite grasp. Give it time, Harry, he told himself. Give it time. It will all make sense soon. He hoped so. Yet deep inside him, he wondered if all this was Makr's doing or if it was just another dream—albeit a more pleasant one than his usual? He had to admit that even though he passed out, the experience as a whole was exhilarating.
He tried to imagine himself on the SensaVision set, naturally sans human technicians. Envisioning it had a calming effect. Taking two deep breaths, he addressed all in the room:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks for having me at this gathering. I hope you will forgive my initial awkwardness—and this spectacle." Grinning, he noticed several jaws drop as he continued, "And please, try remembering your first time. I'm looking forward to meeting each and every one of you."
He felt remarkably composed, which was evidenced by his measured response to the crowd. Either his SensaVision training had paid off or it was his natural charisma. Harry smiled and waved. How did he know what to do? Some people applauded. Both Sam and Desiree were amazed, but it is Desiree who gasped unexpectedly. It is if Harry was meant to be here.
People continued to surround Harry the rest of the evening, some just shaking his hand and some trying their hand at small talk. Most of those guests wore clothing, but as the evening wore on Harry began mingling willingly and working the room, meeting everyone, even those not wearing clothes. It didn't take long for him to determine clothes don't make the man...or woman. This meeting people and having casual conversation is new and exciting, and Harry resolved not to miss a bit of it. This party—what could possibly be wrong with it as far as Makr is concerned? What harm could come from it?
For all his socializing this evening, he had Desiree on his mind. He looked for her in the crowd, but was unsuccessful. It was as though she wanted to get lost...somewhere away from Harry. Or, was it Harry she wanted to lose?
"Hello, Sir. How are you? Fine, I hope. Great weather, eh?" The man addressing Harry had nothing else to say. Just small talk. "How's the family?"
Harry grinned. He didn't have a family, but the man asking the question expected and wanted only one answer. Harry gave it to him.
"Fine, I hope. Yours?"
Attaboy, Harry! Desiree thought. The council may have been right after all. You are special.
Then she had her own reality moment. What if he is a Makr spy? Maybe he isn't human, but Cyber. His sudden calmness would make sense.