[Author's Note: I'm taking a break from /r/WritingPrompts. Instead, I want to expand/combine a couple of the existing posts. This will continue from from where the last post (Mo Leaves) left off.]
Lisp was unaware of Mo's passing, but not blissfully so. Instead, he was unaware of it while cleaning dishes after each meal, while mucking out the sheep pen and while mopping the kitchen floor. Mostly, he was unaware of her death while not being on line, a state that avoided most of the sensations that Lisp had learned to associate with bliss.
Growing up had not been easy for young(er) August/Lisp. The youngest of five brothers, his parents had not had much time for him aside from the basics of food, shelter, cleanliness and off to school. Most of what he had learned about life and dealing with the rest of humanity had come from his older brothers. These had not been easy, let-me-share-my-wisdom-with-you style lessons. They had been you-are-the-youngest-so-you-will-do-as-I-say kinds of lessons. His inability to properly pronounce the ess phoneme had not helped this.
His four older siblings had fought each other more about who got to boss August around than for any other reason, at least to August's recollection. They had finally instituted a schedule, taped to the inside of the toilet tank lid in their shared bathroom, which detailed who got priority to make August do their chores. Their parents may or may not have been oblivious to this. He had tried getting them to arbitrate a few times, early on, using the "it's not fair!" line of reasoning. Of course, they had stepped in and enforced the rules as stated. Then that night, when everyone was supposed to be asleep, August had been assaulted by the two brothers who shared a room with him. They had been paid off by the brother whose chores Lisp had not done. This had been August's first lesson in escalation tactics. He had concluded that parental involvement needed to be kept as a last-resort.
Thus, he had endured. August used his enforced, doing-all-the-chores time to retreat, not jut into his own head, but beyond it. He had gone so far as to recognize three environments in his life: the environment in his head that encompassed his own thoughts and could not be violated by anyone else, the physical environment that needed to be endured, and the virtual environment that soared so far beyond the first two.
He would clean the two kids' bedrooms, trashed by his older brothers, while trying to understand the finer points of international diplomacy[1]. He would clean toilets to advanced number theory and mow the lawn to astrophysics. Everything was so interesting, at least everything outside of his own narrow physical realm.
Of course, to do all of that, he needed to be connected. Age seven was too young to get a PTN installed, but he could use the older, less robust VR glasses. His parents even had a pair lying around that they no longer used. As long as he was on the house Wi-Fi, he did not even need a connection subscription. August, becoming-Lisp, was good to go.
But like many before him, August learned the trap of technology: there's always something more coming. Something better. Something that will increase the flood of bits into his grey matter either through increased processing or better sensory interface. From an addiction to the data, it was a short leap for him to become addicted to the technology itself. This had lead from the VR glasses to him forging a parental consent form for a PTN two years before he was legally allowed to get one on his own. And then, finally, embezzling money from his bothers' various investment accounts[2] for the implants and haircut.
Which brought him to the KC2 and the slightly uneven care of Ms. Carmichael. Lisp knew that he should not complain about his fate. He had brought it on himself by being too impatient, but being too overt in his need for a better setup. And Ms. Carmichael was really very nice about the whole thing. She, having been put in this position by the powers-that-be at the KC2, could have taken out her frustrations on August. Instead, she had done her best to help him survive in the enforced physicality of the commune world. Lessons that he had ignored outside of the academic treatments he had learned on line.
For one, here Lisp was forced to pay attention to his body. At home, eating and cleaning and, to a lesser degree, eliminating were all chores that got in the way of his learning. He had reduced eating to a slurry shake drink called 'Exception: Meal,' one that was supposed to contain everything that his body needed. Except taste. At the KC2, he had learned that smelling, tasting and chewing traditional foodstuffs was pleasurable. It was worth the time. The ritualization and tribal aspects of 'meal time', on the other hand, continued annoy his sense of efficiency.
The exercise had also helped. While doing his brothers' chores had provided Lisp with a certain amount of daily activity, working on the KC2 farm had increased this by at least one order of magnitude. The result was that his muscles felt stronger, more capable. His skin was less pale and flaccid. He could breathe in deeper lung fulls of air and deal with changes in his environment more capably. He slept better.
All of these things were nice, but they did not replace the mental exercise that he had been self-administering. Lisp had trouble capturing the zen-like focus that all of the other commune inhabitants claimed took them over when they were doing long-term repetitive tasks. Instead, he was bored. Really bored. Extremely bored. Sooooooooo bored.
Until Mo had shown up and then Erics. Now Lisp had someone to talk to. Really talk to. Not with the imperfect instrument that was his mouth, but with the full capacity of his intellect. And at speed. If Ms. Carmichael knew about it, she would have called it backsliding and reported it to his parents. Instead, he was able to lean on his well-established habit of quiet observation while discussing everything with the coded AI in his head.
"Erics," he might say. "The club house supervisor just told me to add some bleach to this ammonia based floor cleaner. She wants to clear some of the stains out."
"I would strongly advice against doing that."
"I know: we don't want mustard gas in the dining room. I tried to explain it to her, but I don't think she believed me."
"How will you handle it?"
"I guess I'll mop twice: once with the bleach and then again with the regular cleaner. Which should I do first?"
"I suggest starting with the ammonia as that will pick up the grease stains better. Then the bleach can whiten what is left."
"Thank you. I'll do that."
Conversations like that took less than a second and happened hundreds of times a day. The virus was not always helpful as it did not have access to its own data cloud, but it could search through Lisp's embedded memory, a store of anything that Lisp had found even remotely interesting during his carousing through all of human knowledge, and apply what it found. Together, the two of them kept each other sane.
[1] He wandered down that path in an attempt to learn how to control his brothers. However, his own curiosity became his worst enemy, dragging him down paths that were not relevant to the end goal: The Marshall Plan, Manifest Destiny, Mutually Assured Destruction and other things that turned out to be more history than applicable lessons. Psychology had also led to interesting topics (nature vs nurture, personality disorders, and his favorite: perception vs reality) that ended up being more academic rather than practical.
[2] Because August/Lisp got good with numbers and was always connected, he started playing the stock market. First with small numbers, but those grew. He stayed on top of certain industries and companies and learned what made each of them tick. He also learned the power of the short-term micro loan. He would receive the pocket money for the chores that he did for his brothers, but before turning it over to them, he would deposit it for up to forty-eight hours (or until the brother in question forced it out of him). During that time, he was able to get a few cents on each dollar in interest. Not much, but it added up over time. Eventually, his siblings wanted in on the magic. He set up accounts for each and managed them, earning them small, but significant sums on the side.
Lisp was unaware of Mo's passing, but not blissfully so. Instead, he was unaware of it while cleaning dishes after each meal, while mucking out the sheep pen and while mopping the kitchen floor. Mostly, he was unaware of her death while not being on line, a state that avoided most of the sensations that Lisp had learned to associate with bliss.
Growing up had not been easy for young(er) August/Lisp. The youngest of five brothers, his parents had not had much time for him aside from the basics of food, shelter, cleanliness and off to school. Most of what he had learned about life and dealing with the rest of humanity had come from his older brothers. These had not been easy, let-me-share-my-wisdom-with-you style lessons. They had been you-are-the-youngest-so-you-will-do-as-I-say kinds of lessons. His inability to properly pronounce the ess phoneme had not helped this.
His four older siblings had fought each other more about who got to boss August around than for any other reason, at least to August's recollection. They had finally instituted a schedule, taped to the inside of the toilet tank lid in their shared bathroom, which detailed who got priority to make August do their chores. Their parents may or may not have been oblivious to this. He had tried getting them to arbitrate a few times, early on, using the "it's not fair!" line of reasoning. Of course, they had stepped in and enforced the rules as stated. Then that night, when everyone was supposed to be asleep, August had been assaulted by the two brothers who shared a room with him. They had been paid off by the brother whose chores Lisp had not done. This had been August's first lesson in escalation tactics. He had concluded that parental involvement needed to be kept as a last-resort.
Thus, he had endured. August used his enforced, doing-all-the-chores time to retreat, not jut into his own head, but beyond it. He had gone so far as to recognize three environments in his life: the environment in his head that encompassed his own thoughts and could not be violated by anyone else, the physical environment that needed to be endured, and the virtual environment that soared so far beyond the first two.
He would clean the two kids' bedrooms, trashed by his older brothers, while trying to understand the finer points of international diplomacy[1]. He would clean toilets to advanced number theory and mow the lawn to astrophysics. Everything was so interesting, at least everything outside of his own narrow physical realm.
Of course, to do all of that, he needed to be connected. Age seven was too young to get a PTN installed, but he could use the older, less robust VR glasses. His parents even had a pair lying around that they no longer used. As long as he was on the house Wi-Fi, he did not even need a connection subscription. August, becoming-Lisp, was good to go.
But like many before him, August learned the trap of technology: there's always something more coming. Something better. Something that will increase the flood of bits into his grey matter either through increased processing or better sensory interface. From an addiction to the data, it was a short leap for him to become addicted to the technology itself. This had lead from the VR glasses to him forging a parental consent form for a PTN two years before he was legally allowed to get one on his own. And then, finally, embezzling money from his bothers' various investment accounts[2] for the implants and haircut.
Which brought him to the KC2 and the slightly uneven care of Ms. Carmichael. Lisp knew that he should not complain about his fate. He had brought it on himself by being too impatient, but being too overt in his need for a better setup. And Ms. Carmichael was really very nice about the whole thing. She, having been put in this position by the powers-that-be at the KC2, could have taken out her frustrations on August. Instead, she had done her best to help him survive in the enforced physicality of the commune world. Lessons that he had ignored outside of the academic treatments he had learned on line.
For one, here Lisp was forced to pay attention to his body. At home, eating and cleaning and, to a lesser degree, eliminating were all chores that got in the way of his learning. He had reduced eating to a slurry shake drink called 'Exception: Meal,' one that was supposed to contain everything that his body needed. Except taste. At the KC2, he had learned that smelling, tasting and chewing traditional foodstuffs was pleasurable. It was worth the time. The ritualization and tribal aspects of 'meal time', on the other hand, continued annoy his sense of efficiency.
The exercise had also helped. While doing his brothers' chores had provided Lisp with a certain amount of daily activity, working on the KC2 farm had increased this by at least one order of magnitude. The result was that his muscles felt stronger, more capable. His skin was less pale and flaccid. He could breathe in deeper lung fulls of air and deal with changes in his environment more capably. He slept better.
All of these things were nice, but they did not replace the mental exercise that he had been self-administering. Lisp had trouble capturing the zen-like focus that all of the other commune inhabitants claimed took them over when they were doing long-term repetitive tasks. Instead, he was bored. Really bored. Extremely bored. Sooooooooo bored.
Until Mo had shown up and then Erics. Now Lisp had someone to talk to. Really talk to. Not with the imperfect instrument that was his mouth, but with the full capacity of his intellect. And at speed. If Ms. Carmichael knew about it, she would have called it backsliding and reported it to his parents. Instead, he was able to lean on his well-established habit of quiet observation while discussing everything with the coded AI in his head.
"Erics," he might say. "The club house supervisor just told me to add some bleach to this ammonia based floor cleaner. She wants to clear some of the stains out."
"I would strongly advice against doing that."
"I know: we don't want mustard gas in the dining room. I tried to explain it to her, but I don't think she believed me."
"How will you handle it?"
"I guess I'll mop twice: once with the bleach and then again with the regular cleaner. Which should I do first?"
"I suggest starting with the ammonia as that will pick up the grease stains better. Then the bleach can whiten what is left."
"Thank you. I'll do that."
Conversations like that took less than a second and happened hundreds of times a day. The virus was not always helpful as it did not have access to its own data cloud, but it could search through Lisp's embedded memory, a store of anything that Lisp had found even remotely interesting during his carousing through all of human knowledge, and apply what it found. Together, the two of them kept each other sane.
[1] He wandered down that path in an attempt to learn how to control his brothers. However, his own curiosity became his worst enemy, dragging him down paths that were not relevant to the end goal: The Marshall Plan, Manifest Destiny, Mutually Assured Destruction and other things that turned out to be more history than applicable lessons. Psychology had also led to interesting topics (nature vs nurture, personality disorders, and his favorite: perception vs reality) that ended up being more academic rather than practical.
[2] Because August/Lisp got good with numbers and was always connected, he started playing the stock market. First with small numbers, but those grew. He stayed on top of certain industries and companies and learned what made each of them tick. He also learned the power of the short-term micro loan. He would receive the pocket money for the chores that he did for his brothers, but before turning it over to them, he would deposit it for up to forty-eight hours (or until the brother in question forced it out of him). During that time, he was able to get a few cents on each dollar in interest. Not much, but it added up over time. Eventually, his siblings wanted in on the magic. He set up accounts for each and managed them, earning them small, but significant sums on the side.
