Chapter 1

A Chapter by Alex Vandool

He turned up early at the wheels of a Jacobin 51V, spinning the highlighter and infrareds as he pulled in by the curved side. They were waiting for him in a crybar about twenty old French metres from his stoppoint, in this widish laneway behind the All Supreme Courts of the Highest Intelligence. He cursed the artificial judgments recorded inside, and projected on the façades of this grotesquely supramodern set of buildings, and hovered on to the rendez-vous bar. "Anacharsis my ring", he muttered to himself, despising the hellishly insipid course which liberalism had so inexpertly drawn for the world, as if making it up as it went along.

On reaching the tin door of the establishment he was practically barged aside by a couple of butch old bulldykes who bundled carelessly out of the bar, in floods of tears, no doubt brought on by some confection or other dispensed within. "The charm of the merit-knockracy", he thought, as he gestured a greeting to their oblivious disregard, and reopened the lightweight metal door with a flick of his chipped left wrist on the sensor. Inside things were already getting bad.

At tables, in alcoves, at the few bars, below in the partially hidden pits, an assortment of professionals and probots were engaged in a wide variety of weeping, sobbing, snivelling, feigning, wiping tears from faces and apparel, sad smiles, watery laughter, convulsions, and drama queenery. He hated these places and the pharmatech which had become so prevalent in the late 21st Century South-North, and which kept them afloat. Money was not what it had been to the transhumans, but it still facilitated certain powers and liberties to the ghouls further up the chain of command and ownership. He tried to avoid eye contact with any of the sorrow seekers, while simultaneously glancing here and there to see if he could find his client; as he ceased his hover function and walked.

They spotted him first. They were sitting on a red velvet sofa directly above the entrance, so that they could order by hover-tray and peer down upon the crying clientèle and their company of generally feigning androgynous androids (some couldn't even be bothered to pretend by the looks of it - they seemed to stare at the humans and transhumans with a heavy contempt; although one could never quite be sure).

They pointed their laser stick carefully at his right ear and relayed an instant light wave message to his consciousness: "I'm right here. So glad you could make it." He turned slowly and looked up at them. One tear marked their mascara and a slight air of melancholy framed their presence, but overall they contrasted with the wailing/mechanical atmosphere through their somewhat aloof and largely elegant bearing. He nodded respectfully and re-engaged his hover function so that he might move up into his client's company.

"Is there any....?"

"Yes, I don't know..."

"No, I can't tell either..."

"That's fine you know..."

"No, please, I insist..."

"Well, alright then..."

"If you must..."

"I assure you that's all I'm thinking about..."

"Not in that way of course...."

"Of course not..."

"I would be astonished if it wasn't the case..."

"You can count on me..."

"Well, that does sound familiar..."

"I hope not in such a way that would cause unease..."

"Not this time at least, but you never know..."

"We never do..."

"We never will..."

The conversation continued like this for a few minutes until all niceties and pleasantries required were exhausted, and he added (in a final answer to their original message): "Thank you for your kind words - I do hope we can achieve what you require from us".

They nodded politely and gestured to a white chair beside the sofa. "Please sit and listen to my dilemma". He acquiesced.

They began: "As you will know from our communications with your office centre devices - a code has been placed in such a way that our feelings on the matter might be logged as sent, and so on and so forth".

He nodded.

"Have you received our general queries satisfactorily?"

"Yes".

They continued: "I believe that all that needs to be said was said in the subsequent messaging, but forgive us if we have not been entirely clear about the exact services we will need from you". They looked at him inquisitively.

"Yes, of course we understand. My associates and I have no concern about the limited nature of disclosure at such an early stage of the process, and can only hope that we may realize your every requirement in the fullness of time".

"That's very reassuring. Well then, without further ado, let's just say..."

At this moment they broke down in tears and began shaking as if uncontrollably. A hover-tray whizzed up to the side of the sofa and they stretched out a trembling arm to seize a silken tissue and a shot glass of Mezmerizer. "Want some?", they asked through suddenly lucid and self-possessed eyes.

"Maybe later", he replied, "please work away"...

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