The Tardian Principle.

SiMan; 04/01/2100

Produser; Think-Team Leader

Page-up: "hi siman, welcome to the first look at your new Core3, you will see from
the on screen controllers, you may begin to enter your presets today if you wish, and
the information will be installed and ready to go upon receipt of your handset so you
can integrate seamlessly into your new experience".

(clk hr to conf...**3000credITs from creadycard **** **** **** 6104)<br/>

"Using the pulldowns, select from any number of template experiences, modify, or
build your own experiences via our unique 'sYmBio' system. Ever dreamt of that
special kiss with the celebrity of your dreams?, this too can be yours to experience in
full at the touch of a button.

(clk hr to conf...**200 credITs).

Siman scans about the screen with his eyes taking it all in, allowing the system time to
pick up on his responses and format the page in the correctly satisfying way for him.
He had always loved this part, ever since his first lessons in group harmonic thinking
at the age of three. That was the early days of 'Core' and the software was positively
cold and unfeeling by comparison, but at that age it was still enough to allow him to
create his first emote group bond with his classmates and move up to the next level of
Techtoys almost six months earlier than his bio-forecast (tm. Superkidz)

The page now assembled before him, showing all the usual features he enjoyed, e-
motes, blind-connections touchies to all the women he had sense shared with, even
gps on some of his friend contacts from that first emote group. Some were hooking up
as he sat there but rather than join them he stayed offline and gently touched the live
portion of the panel to feel what they were doing to each other.

"Those two can’t keep their hands off each other" he thought to himself smiling a
lopsided smile.

The key sets were ready onscreen to start his e-mote upload for this new Core3. All he
needed to do was bring an image or experience to mind, recreate the feeling, and
touch the hot panel for the system to record his sensations. Once the uploads were
completed, sYmBio would offer an auto-allocate profile, open to amend and change,
and he could 'feel' a desire to save his settings and data, and the process would be
complete.

It was quite emotionally exhausting, re-living all of his strongest and most sacred
feelings all at one sitting, and more than a little disconcerting going from his mothers
feelings of joy at his own birth, used as her dial-in e-mote for when she called, to the
memory of ejaculating into Gene-a's (his ex-bondee) mouth on their lifelaunch night
celebration. That one wasn’t a contact tone, just a locked save for lonely times or
boring days in Prosess. After a draining nine minute input session he was fit to sleep
for twenty mins, which he allowed the chair to induce for him with a timer-wake set
for 7pm.

Just long enough to dream of Gene-a again, an almost daily re-run, through the
variety of devices and E-xperiences he had accumulated in his three and a bit years as
a think leader in his prosessor group. He couldn’t remember a time when he had to
watch the credITs anymore, even though it used to be a daily concern, they loved his
ideas down there and he loved doing it. More often than not he would be reminded by
the Securi-health spokesman Marcus that he had exceeded his four hour shift and was
"gonna end up in the Red again if he weren't careful".

He fell into a midi-slumber in moments, as the chair slowly teased his synapses into a
muted state. The dream began almost at once;

..... the two of them in the suite, eyes locked, yanking at their own clothing and
feeling all the old emotions they used to practice at Uni in the final years of
their course; Humanities - involuntary Physical responses and their Triggers
1955-2055 Western Hemisphere. Then, as they fall to the bed kissing, and
feeling each other all over with a sense of urgency nearing frenzy, all his
feelings start to close down, slowly at first, a waning of his love for this
woman, a wandering of his attention, a million stupid little thoughts popping
up un his mind till, he cant recall her name, his movements have slowed and
his eyes become glazed, he can see her mouthing something, a confused
expression on her face, but he can barely register the sound of her voice, he is
so consumed with watching this cascading fall away of his feelings, his
passion, even memories of feelings and emotions are hard to recall. His body
starts to feel numb to him, “no....not numb.....just....just....what is it?”.... he
can’t put his finger on it. “Disassociated?....disconnected?”....like it is not his
own, but just a basic e-body, with no memories, no passion, no feeling or
emotion. He is locked in a lead-lined moment, as cold as he could ever
imagine, unable to feel a single person, or memory, or even temperature. The
scream starts deep down in his throat, time slows in the dream, her panic
stricken face goes into slo-mo and locks her open mouthed in front of his eyes.
He knows it is him that is screaming, some vibration far away, in the back of
his mind, but he can’t feel it or hear it. He can’t hear or feel or sense
anything, a human emotional cryogenic trauma.

The chair awakens him exactly on schedule, teasing his mind back into consciousness,
and placing the usual ads and desire instructions in his attention just like it was
designed to, the best wishes and service commitment messages from the
manufacturers and a list of credits for all the prosessors who contributed to its features
etc. etc.

"Just a dumb fucking chair, doesn't know me, doesn't know what im feeling, doesn't
care if im happy or miserable, don’t even know my fuckin name for chrissakes. That
thing is going into the re-use crusher first thing tomorrow when i on-shift, im fuckin
sick of it. It’s like living with someone in a coma".
Gradually, he pulls himself together and stops staring at the chair with the disgust he
feels in the pit of his stomach, and the taste of bile ebbs away.

SiMan turns to leave the room, as the view screen releases a bloom of colour, turning
the air in the room a soothing gentle violet, the type of colour used to touch up
holiday resort coastlines in glossy sales brochures of the past. A few wisps’ of
synthetic string sounds insinuate themselves about the room with no particular
beginning or end, no more than a presence, a mere whisper, and a picture of a man,
not unlike himself slowly forms on the vid-wall.

From the doorway he turns back to face the image.

"Not unlike himself at all actually. Except maybe slightly more tanned, and perhaps
slightly better definition of the jaw line and muscles. A bit trimmer at the waist, just a
little".

SiMan already likes this guy. He can’t put his finger on it, but there is something
about him, a likeability. He appears very serene, with his clear pale blue eyes, slightly
hooded, and a few creases around the corners adding character and a quality of cool
and a calmness to his expression.
There is no other soundtrack, just the very slight and calming influence of the string
sounds. No voice over, no marketing spiel, no features and benefits, no claims of
quality or lifetime guarantees. Just this lookalike, this idealised 'him' sitting calmly
and comfortably in a beautifully designed seat. A few discreet controls appear to be
beneath the man’s fingertips and some led activity around the head-rest but other than
that, nothing.

Bottom right of the page appears a familiar icon;

(....25000 credITs, clk to conf pls siMan).

He leans forward and touches the hot panel, feeling better already, feeling like a new
man.

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