CHAPTER TWO DIRECTOR'S CUT
TUESDAY, JANUARY 22, 2123.
I agreed to meet with Conrad the next day at our old apartment.
Terri was less than impressed and refused to come along. “I am not seeing Max ever again. I refuse to even enter the same building as him. If it was not for you,“ she prodded my chest accusingly, “I wouldn't even be in the same state as him let alone the same city.”
“What did he do?”
“I cannot even begin to explain. And you wouldn't believe me anyway.”
“But Conrad’s ok?”
“Conrad? I have a few issues with Conrad. But Max is the problem.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Absolutely!”
“Physically?”
“Not directly.”
“Molested you?” I said in anguish.
“Not in the legal sense. He stole my soul! It was spiritual abuse if you must know. Look it up.”
“Your soul?”
“I said you wouldn't believe me.”
“I believe you. I do understand. You don't want to see him.”
“You don't understand. But you're partly right, I don't want to see him. Ever! And I don't want to talk about it.”
“Can't I ask you anything about him? I may be meeting him quite soon. I need to know. This isn't just me doing a diary-deep-dive for BragBook viral,” I pleaded.
Terri paced our new (second floor) apartment's combined living, dining and kitchen room. She growled with frustration, “What do you want to know?”
“How did you meet him and what is he like?” I ventured carefully.
***
TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 10, 2117.
What follows is the Director's-Cut-Extended-Edition of Terri's story of her first week in New York. Terri was a different person in those days, as any young girl would be, naive and idealistic. She would not tell this story herself, it hurts her too much. I have filled in the details myself with perhaps some embellishments.
After a three hour train journey from Saint Paul, Minnesota to New York's Grand Central Station, Terri arrived at Colombia University by auto-taxi. She was delighted to be met on the pavement, coordinated via headsets, by her allocated second year student buddy, Jennifer, not a replicant but a real person. Most robotics were banned from the streets of New York in order to ease congestion. Terri wanted to come to New York for that very reason. She was tired of Replicants and Robots with their thank-you-this and thank-you-that, do-anything-you-want-as-long-as-its-safe homogenised personalities. It may suit old age pensioners but not aspiring art students that craved authenticity and were determined to use the best virtual reality to get it.
Terri arrived wide-eyed and tourist-like delighting in looking up at the skyscrapers and overhead roadways, monorails and covered streets. Jenny was there to put her on the right path in this most complex of cities. Her role as buddy was to ensure Terri hooked up to the right networks: academic, domestic, social and electronic. Jenny was dark skinned with blond hair with conservative streaks of metallic pink. She owned a small metal dog that she kept in her handbag. And indeed, she did sort out Terri. She selected the right fashion salons, gymnasium, educational timetable logging her into all the right places.
“So what's your orientation, sweetie?” Jenny asked as she stared into her holoscreen.
“Oh hetro, 70%, bi-sexual, 20%, robo-sexual, 10%,” Terri said shyly.
“What a conservative girl, you are. I guess that's your mid-west roots, eh? You're just a country girl at heart, eh?' teased Jenny.
“And you?” Terri asked red-faced.
“I'm a regular three-way-split, 30-30-30,” beamed Jenny.
“That's missing 10%,” observed Terri.
“Oh, that's solo. By choice!” Jenny smirked. “I'm guessing you’re really 100% solo at the moment. Let's get that changed, shall we?”
“That would be great, Jenny. Thanks.”
“Select the robot you want from this catalog,” advised Jenny.
“I thought they were banned in New York?”
“Licensed. You might need some escorting after dark. I can get you a retro version if you don't like replicants.”
“So you have one?”
“Sure. Top of the range X.24,” said Jenny and opened up a cupboard. “This is Doug. I let him out occasionally.”
A nice looking male replicant was behind the door. “Hi, there!” he waved enthusiastically. But he was in for some disappointment.
“I'm actually after a real boy,” said Terri wistfully.
Jenny closed the door on the dejected replicant. “We’ll get you a real one, Terri,” she smiled.
Their first trip was to the fashion salon to change Terri's provincial, rainbow-coloured hairstyle to a more subtle ash-blonde with leopard-spots. While waiting for her hair to be re-style, Jenny selected her clothes.“I love the way that you look different, Terri, very Newtonian. But the aim is to look different within the fashionable trends of the city, university and sorority,” advised Jenny.
“Sound complicated,” said Terri with a giggle.
“Fortunately you have me and poochie here to help,” smiled Jenny giving her robo-pet a cuddle.
She flicked through the catalog on her holoscreen, made some customisations and downloaded the latest outfits into her holo-clothes, adding fabricated red and purple scarfs and straps over a leather effect mini-dress. She entered a couple of virtual worlds to try them out on her avatar. However Terri soon grew tired of the untrustworthy and ingratiating comments from the A-I characters that danced attendance; she could barely tolerate artificial beings in virtual worlds or the real one. In those days she liked, indeed craved, the frailty and vagaries of humanity.
Terri exited the salon looking like a stylish student from New York.
“Thoughts?” asked Terri.
“It's exybobulous!” nodded Jenny. Terri was pleased.
Back at the Student Accommodation Block, Jenny completed her induction by filling in her social electronic profile on her top ten relevant social media sites.
“So a couple more questions... What comms network are you with?”
“Ms Bell, of course.”
“And implant type and version?”
“None. No implants.”
Jenny's eyes raised. “Technophobic?”
“Naturally aligned.”
Jenny shrugged. It didn't matter to her whether Terri was electronically connected or not. “We'll go easy on you and just distribute your profile to a dozen or so net-bots and see what happens. You'll have to be patient, though, as it might be a couple of hours before we have the dates arranged.”
“That'll be fine. I'll just go and hygenise.”
Much to Jenny's dismay, Terri had only selected a single date for the evening; a real world one-to-one date and not a virtual world date. Terri was feeling unduly confident about the computer-selected, boyfriend-elect.
A few hours later, Terri was ready for her first date in the big city.
“I love that term, boyfriend-elect,” giggled Terri.
“You go and elect him, girl,” encouraged Jenny.
She looked radiant in her new hairdo and laser-effect sequin dress.
Ralph was a second year student, good-looking, not unpleasant in that respect. The romantic prospects looked hopeful when they met outside the restaurant, Broadway/103rd West/Level 1. Ralph recognised Terri and Terri recognised Ralph as their apps also added hearts and starbursts when they met.
But as the evening wore on reality intervened. Ralph, it seemed had done precious-little dating except with human-like, sycophantic replicants. In fact Ralph showed less interest in her than the AI menu sheet. “Hi, Terri,” said the computerised plastic card in its tinny little voice. “I didn’t know you had moved to New York. Are you going for your usual or can I interest you in the special…” Terri pressed the mute on the menu card; she hated such marketing gimmicks.
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve invited you to a McSquirrels rather than to a Rodentia or some other up-market establishment,” enthused Ralph.
“Well it’s only a first date…” said Terri with a shrug and a smile.
Ralph then spent a long time describing the musical he was writing and hoping to sell to the restaurant chain for promotional purposes. It was tale about a quarrelling family of squirrels. He demonstrated its plot using the salt and pepper shakers and sang key verses. He shooed the robot waiter away several times during the climatic final scene.
Terri felt bad about her initial encouragement of his singing and acting out of particular scenes of his opus, as boredom developed she became aware of angry stares from fellow diners.
Ralph’s lack of relationship management skills became even more evident once the food arrived. He had not only failed to ask her a single question but worse, when she did start a topic, he would interject mid-sentence enthusiastically with his own point of view.
Terri craved real conversation but the majority of Ralph’s conservation appeared to be the rehashing the advertising slogans for the franchised food chain.
“100% squirrel pummelled into a pellet. This isn't just squirrel steak. This is specially bred, spicy, tornado-grey squirrel steak with mouth-watering, acorn-jam sauce.” Ralph recanted just his first mouthful.
When he belatedly noticed Terri losing interest, he did try to involve her in conversation but not effectively. For example, he asked, “Are you nuts for the McAcorn Salad? I know I'm nuts for McAcorn Salad. I'm crazy, huh? I'm certainly crazy about squirrels.”
Ralph became increasingly nervous as Terri's look of pity withered his confidence. After the date he messaged via his G-Phone, requesting feedback, as is protocol, on his date performance. Terri, like most of Ralph's infrequent previous dates, bucked protocol and she did not reply, instead blocking him from her network and leaving Ralph non-the-wiser about his social ineptitude.
Terri regretted only having the one date that evening, her high expectations, and for wasting time on such a bozo.
Jenny did not dwell on I-told-you-so and suggested that the next night, Terri should try speed dating as the University Community Action Centre was holding speed-date introductions as part of the fresher week activities.
Jenny gave Terri a tip on how to spot men with real world disconnection syndrome. “If they are male they have it. Until, that is, they prove otherwise.”
***
FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 13, 2117 (ONE DAY LATER).
Before meeting Dameon, the speed dating event had not been going well. She had already met a sports fanatic, an asteroid miner, a politician wannabe and assorted psychologically-underdeveloped arty types. There was even a replicant, no doubt entered by the event’s organisers to make up numbers but Terri had a knack for spotting the uncanny-valley-like behaviour that such machines exhibited after her many years of robot-chaperoned protection. When confronted, the dater merely smiled and moved on quickly.
Dameon was date number 9. He was swarthy, dark hair, dark eyes and handsome in a rugged-sort of way. He was dressed all in black except for his white, thigh-length boots. He seemed interested in her and didn't talk too much about himself. He was a third year student and seemed a smooth operator.
“I like your dress,” said Dameon, after the mandatory exchange of introductory information.
“Thank you,” Terri replied pleased with receiving the first compliment from someone she actually fancied that evening.
“It's a Harmonic style, right?” he asked in a soothingly, deep voice. Harmonic was a famous up-market fashion brand. Jenny had downloaded the holographic costume from their network.
“That's right. How did you know?”
“I see the style around quite a bit. If you're interested in something new, a bit more avant-garde, then look me up on the net. I can show you around the boutiques down town. Perhaps we can get you a fabricated dress,” he crooned.
“That sounds great, Dameon. Although just because I'm studying the twentieth century doesn't mean I want to go around in the same costume all day.”
“Well, sure. I just think it makes a stronger fashion statement if you commit to a single outfit for the day.”
Terri nodded, that seemed kind of intelligent even if a little on the arrogant side.
The bell chimed. Everyone needed to change seats.
“You make a good point. I'm certainly keen to see the boutiques.”
“See you later,” he winked as he walked away.
Terri looked up his profile on her headset: Dameon Lysenko, relationship status: Not in a relationship, orientation: hetro-80-10-10. “Wow. He's looking for a real woman too!” she mused. Thumbs up.
***
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2117
Terri turned up in her most special high-heeled ankle-boots for the follow-up date with Dameon. They arranged to meet in Times Square at 11am and planned to walk into the garment district and check out the freaky fabrication boutiques. Dameon provided guided tour commentary and Terri followed with an increasingly fixed smile as she was led among garment manufacturing shops and warehouses. Her ability to smile deteriorated within half an hour because of the effort and care required to manoeuvre in her boots and her own self-loathing. Her legs began to ache and she began to get hungry. She was also stressed because she did not have the money, by several orders of magnitude, to buy the beautiful clothes she was being shown. The clothes were carbon-layered, as thin and as fine as silk which, when plugged into the machinists' network, reconfigured themselves to the latest style, texture and colour. Almost the same as holo-clothes, but actually solid rather than just an optical effect.
They entered the Harmonic Fabrication Boutique. The shop sold low-cost holo-clothes, the type that Terri was wearing, and high-cost fabricated clothes, the type she would prefer to wear. They were finished with hand-made extras. Hand-made by robots, of course, but to add to the designer-cache of the product, they were antique robots; heavy, stainless-steel, 2 metre-tall jobs that sat quietly in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous, sewing accessories and labels into the clothes. Terri lingered around one particular jacket. It had practical pockets and tassels, attributes not available with holo-clothes. She looked at the price tag. It was as much as her whole year's grant. It would be impossible to purchase.
Dameon came up behind her, “Yeah, good choice... Though you'd need to lose a few pounds to carry that one off.”
Terri made a half-hearted smack across Dameon's chest and Dameon pretended to be injured by it. They laughed.
While fascinated by the styles and the fabrication, Terri could not shrug off her hunger. One of the characteristics of New York is that food is available on every street corner; unlicensed fruit and vegetables prominently displayed in the streets from traditional, tourist-focused vendors. Generally no-one goes hungry in NYC, not even the beggars (when they are able to get past the robotised police cordon and surveillance drones circling the city, that is). Terri asked that they stopped for food at which point Dameon announced he had a large breakfast and while not hungry, insisted that he absolutely had to take Terri to his most-favourite-in-the-whole-world gelato bar, which was two blocks away. It would be an agonising journey for her, but Terri, still wanting to be loved, agreed. They eventually arrived at the tiny shop. Indeed, it was cute (and small). There were only two high chairs available and Terri parked herself on one of the seats while Dameon ordered gelato in Italian. He returned with a single large bowl of strawberry gelato and a single long spoon and proceeded to feed himself and Terri with the same spoon. Terri was horrified with herself, especially when Dameon would wave a heap of gelato at her and then change tact and wistfully discuss another subject, leaving her open mouthed waiting for her next spoonful. As thoughtless as she felt this was, she was captivated by this dominant male.
Terri could see other people in the shop watching their performance and she became intensely embarrassed. She had had enough. She realised she was hating herself for the sycophancy she was exhibiting. She hated it in A.I. so why was she acting so submissively? In a pause between Dameon's guided tour-like diatribes, Terri spoke up.
“Well, Dameon,” she said firmly. “It's been lovely. But I have to head back to campus. Jenny is expecting me to go to a nail bar this afternoon.”
“Really, but we still have some gelato left.”
“It's ok. You finish it.” Terri smiled and walked to the door.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Dameon finishes the gelato in a couple of gulps and arrived at the door to hold it open.
“I was just thinking though... That jacket you liked...” Dameon mused.
“What?” Terri stopped in her tracks in the doorway. Was he planning on buying it for her?
“I have a friend in the garment district...”
Terri's interest was piqued. “Oh?”
“She processes the blanks, the carbon-layered tubes before they are programmed.”
“Go on...”
“Well, my friend offered me a couple of the blanks.”
“Hmm, well, they are just black sacks unless they are fabricated.”
“We can manage that,” said Dameon smugly as they walk onto the street. “Come over to my place tomorrow night. About 7pm. I'll make dinner and fabricate a jacket for you. I'll even add some custom features to make the flare unique for you. You'll love it. Think it over. Come. Or not. It's up to you.”
Dameon tapped his wrist controls and his contact details transferred (“toothed”) over to Terri's digital assistant application on her G-phone.
He clicked his fingers, pointed at her and winked, “Ciao!”
He was already probably out of earshot by the time Terri recovered from her daze and called out incoherently, “Thanks for... the... you... er, Dameon.”
***
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2117
Terri felt compelled to show up at Dameon's apartment the following evening. She was already hating herself for allowing herself to be so blatantly bribed. In fact, as she stood outside of the apartment block, she was having not only second thoughts, but twenty-second and twenty-third thoughts about entering. She really needed to go to church she had promised her mother she would register with the Geniuses at the local Jobsian Chapter. She turned away only to be confronted by Dameon walking towards her.
“Hey-hey, so glad you could make it. I just popped out to get some tea. Ceylon, right?” he said, arms outstretched as if to catch her.
He escorted her along the pavement and into the building.
“You'll be impressed with this. Security. Not only card access, voice activated, but also...” he said putting his eye in front of scanner, “...heartbeat and retina-scan biometrics.”
“Welcome, Dameon,” intoned the lift as the door slid open.
“So facial recognition is not enough?” asked Terri.
“That’s just for targeting you for ads,” he winked. “For real security you need the full biometrics.”
This luxury apartment block had a Magi-Lift that moved horizontally as well as vertically to take occupants straight to their apartments, no further corridor required.
In the blink of an eye, Terri was inside the apartment. A luxury living room with kitchen and breakfast bar but was er… untidy with piles of unwashed dishes scattered around and the corners stacked full of boxes.
“Sorry, for the mess. We don’t allows robots in here,” said Dameon collecting the rubbish and putting it into a disposal chute. “We have tea, of course. But I was wondering whether you'd like something a bit more chic,” said Dameon donning on a chef's hat and busying himself behind the kitchenette bar counter.
“I really don't like alcohol and I don't have a license for it,” said Terri uncertainly.
“I was thinking more like Starlight and Infinity,” purred Dameon. Starlight and Infinity were the latest designer-mood enhancers. They were strictly licensed to the major urban areas.
“Oh crumbs, no,” stuttered Terri. “I haven't done any research on them at all, let alone certified.”
“Sure. I'm with you on this. No pressure, girlie,” he soothed as he ducked under a counter to open a cupboard.
Terri cringed at the diminutive appellation.
“Meanwhile, Dinner! Chopped bucatini pasta with a creamy, ooey-gooey sauce with a baked crust, dusted lightly with smoked paprika,” announced Dameon
“Oh?” said Terri trying to figure out what he had just said.
Terri looked around the room and saw a box from the South American Rainforest Corporation full of dried pasta ready-meals.
“So,” she said. “We're having Mac-and-Cheese?”
Dameon replied dead-pan, “I thought you liked cheese. You have a problem with that?”
“I don't eat processed cheese,” stated Terri. “Only natural cheese and preferably Gruyère.”
“O-M-J. Are you a purist?”
“I just have a few dietary preferences.”
“Preferences or restrictions?”
“I'd like to call it my regime,” said Terri shyly, sitting on the couch.
Dameon moved to Terri's side on the couch and put an arm around her, “Any chance of a regime change?”
“Not in the immediate future.”
“Ok, I'll get something delivered. Is that ok?”
Terri smiled a fixed fake smile, “There's always something to eat in New York, right?”
“Hey, always. There's Chinese from Wok-Around-the-Frock?”
“That would be great.”
“So, we’ll go Dutch?”
Terri maintained a smile, “Dutch for Chinese. Yeah, sure!”
Dameon leapt back up and into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a cup of tea, “The food is ordered. Here's your tea, you bad-girl.”
“Tea is my only drug!” Terri said with a smirk. But the tea was awful. Dameon had not used boiling hot water made worse by the wrong sort of milk. “It's lovely,” she said, realising she was being overly compliant again.
It occurred to her that Dameon had read more than just her BragBook public profile. How did he know she liked tea and cheese? But these thoughts were forgotten when Dameon showed her the “blank” carbon-layer outfit that in the pre-fabricated form looked like a black sack. Dameon explained that these were old-model blanks: thicker, heavier and slower to process than the ones seen the previous day.
The vegetable noodle chow mein arrived. They ate their meal. It was awful. “Thanks,” Terri said with the best smile she could manage.
Once they finished their food, Dameon started on the jacket. “Just need to hack-up the Harmonics databanks and pull down the design pattern.”
“Uh... that's illegal.”
“Only if you get caught. It's a victimless, untraceable crime. Untraceable with our computer, that is. No-one loses anything.”
“Loss of revenue.”
“LOL. Well, yes, but since you can't buy it anyway, it is already a loss of revenue. They should be paying a glamorous girl like you for advertising their clothes.”
“I’m sure that wouldn’t be their opinion when they find out.”
“They won’t find out. We have a fool-proof mechanism for flossing the Harmonics' network,” he confided.
“You do?” asked Terri wide-eyed.
“Yeah. The University is funding a super computer that steamrollers encrypted networks like they are pastry.”
“They have?”
“A Quantum-powered Super Computer.”
Terri nodded knowingly.
(As an aside, there are only about 50 of Quantum Super Computers in the world. Super fast, super powerful; the last and biggest one built provided all the brain power for the latest generation androids all over the world. The only trouble is their size. While such computers work on a sub-atomic scale, the components have to be frozen to near absolute zero and they occupy a space the size of a football pitch. This is known to be true because the University computer occupied the site of the old Columbia football ground. Despite the improvements in the football association augmented reality facilities, the loss of the university team's pitch could be considered another battle won for the Nerds in their old war against the Jocks.)
Both Terri and Dameon donned immersive headsets to explore super computer’s abstract and mainly empty virtual world it was unlike the vibrant and shimmering virtual worlds she was accustomed to. He explained how the university supercomputer worked while gesturing at a virtual holo-screen. With no apparent effort at all, he accessed the supercomputer and directed it at the Harmonics network represented as a wire-frame doorway. He used a holographic hand on the holographic door handle and gained access to their workshop files. Terri tried to curb her elation of this illicit activity.
Inside virtual folders, they found her jacket pattern and started the download. Back in the real world Dameon started the manufacture process.
Terri was scared but also excited by the prospect of wearing the Harmonics fabricated jacket.
“It's going to take a while and I was thinking, do you want er... to make out?” crooned Dameon.
Terri smiled. “Sure,” she said. She had reached Level 7 intimacy with her Replicant Tutor, she was sure it would be even more fun with a real boy.
“Ok,” said Dameon. Let's go to the bedroom.”
“Level 6, only,” said Terri.
Daemon laughed with no mirth. “Here's a toothbrush. The bathroom is there.”
Toothbrush? Very practical, but Terri felt offended. She cleaned her teeth. Dameon guided her from the bathroom into a darkened, but mirror-lined room; Mirrors on the walls and ceiling. It was like stepping into space not too dissimilar from the super computer’s virtual world. Except for the stripper pole at the end of the bed.
“You can sit here,” he instructed, pointing to the circular bed with brown satin sheets. “Let me put you in the mood…”
Slow music came on and Dameon then began to hang around the pole, whipping himself around it in time to the music in a reasonable representation of pole-dancing. He started removing his clothes. Terri noticed that his shirt was a true fabricated item; very expensive, and yet he was so rough with it! His routine was complex and his striptease synchronised to musical events. He spun around and facing away from her, slowly lowering his shirt to reveal, what? Tattooed wings? No, it was a huge two-headed eagle tattoo covering his back; an angel-or-devil type of symbol. He turned around and displayed his muscular torso. His holographic trousers disappeared leaving him naked save for a leather g-string.
He came towards Terri slowly, “I hope you'll be able to do a similar dance for me sometime, but first let us head for Level 6.”
Terri's eyes widened as Dameon pounced on her. She wanted to stop at Level 6 not start there!
***
TUESDAY, JANUARY 22, 2123 (EVENING)
Obviously the story I’m telling has some embellishment since Terri was quite scant on details. However at this point Terri came to a complete stop, not wanting to tell me the story in the first place and provided me some of the background story at times. But the story about Daemon was new and she was having problems reaching its conclusion.
Terri was twisting her mouth. She didn't want to go on.
I sat there with bated breath.
“What happened?” I asked.
Smiling grimly, Terri said, “You won't believe me.”
“Sure I will.”
“Besides the sudden epiphany that I was idiot, which I’m sure you can believe. The rest was unbelievable.”
“This is a trick right? I would believe what I-think-you-think is unbelievable but I don't believe that you ever thought of yourself as an idiot.”
“Despite the string of idiot actions and naivety?”
“Naive? Yes, sure. You were in your first week in New York, the big, bad city. Anyone can be naive. An idiot? No.”
“I would like to say that you’re being generous but you’re already looking smug enough.”
“So what happened?” I asked, removing smugness from my face as best I could.
“Max happened,” she said.
“Well, that was the whole point of the story: how you met Max. So what actually transpired? He came and picked up the pieces the next day? Or did he just turn up out-of-the-blue like the cavalry?” I said sarcastically.
“This is going to be harder to explain than I thought,” sighed Terri.
***
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2117 (SECONDS LATER).
She moved her head away. She didn’t want to kiss him but his body was on top of hers and his hands were all over her body. He had unclipped her holo-dress and she was down to her underwear. She was scared, feeling trapped, not even knowing where the door was in this room of mirrors, not being able to escape the apartment because of security within the magi-lift, not even knowing if there was a fire escape.
Terri started to whimper, “No. No. No.” His hand roving over her body.
Then Terri really started to shout “No. No. No.” and pushed the brute aside.
“What?” he exclaimed innocently.
***
TUESDAY, JANUARY 22, 2123 (EVENING)
“Like he didn't know he was an abuser?” I interrupted.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?” said Terri through gritted teeth.
I began to pace the apartment as Terri continued the story. Now it was my turn to not want to go on with the story.
***
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2117 (NANO-SECONDS LATER)
And then, like the cavalry arriving and saving the day, the door to the bedroom burst open. There was a blinding light and silhouetted against the light, a figure of a short stout man.
“Dameon,” boomed the silhouette melodramatically. “This is the last straw. Leave the girl alone. Get out. Get lost. Don't come back. I'll get the freaking Police on you if you do!”
Dameon was rolling off the bed and picking up his things. “Ruddy hell, Max. What are you doing here?”
“Stopping your criminal use of the super computer and saving this poor girl from one of your games.”
“You can go just go to hell, Max. As if you don't play games!”
Terri was panicking, “Games? Games? This isn't a frigging game. Get away from me. Both of you. Get away.”
Daemon ran out and Max walked away. Terri was left to find her things using the light from the doorway, got dressed and recovered her composure. Outside the bedroom, she could hear the two continue to shout and argue. When it was quiet, Terri returned to the living room, where the short, stout, thirty-something man, wearing a business suit and square-rimmed glasses was sitting quietly at a desk viewing a holoscreen.
“Thank you,” she said hesitantly.
“I'm so sorry about that. I don't think you'll be hearing from Dameon again. Unless, that is, you want to press charges.”
“I don't think I could press charges. Nothing happened… it's my own fault.”
“I doubt that. It's Terri, isn't it? Hi, I'm Max, by the way. I work for the University,” said Max offering a hand but only glanced up for a second.
“Hi, Max. Thanks,” said Terri and shock hands. “Are you a lecturer?”
“No, just a researcher. Working on a PHD… It was not your fault. Do not doubt that. He was playing you.”
“Playing me?”
“He was trying to seduce you with a technique known as The Game.”
“Game? Dameon was duping me?” asked Terri softly.
“Oh yes. He's done it before. He studied relationship psychology in his degree course. He couldn't even look a real girl in the eye until a year ago,” he said ironically, since Max himself was struggling to do just that. “He just focused on study and theory until one day he came across The Game. Now he has three or four concurrent girlfriends, all nice girls, all unaware of each other... He juggles them around for a couple of months like some manic latherio until the tears fall...”
“The Game?”
“It's a method for seducing and dominating women.”
“Seduction? Is that what you call it?”
“Did he not get you to sign the seduction contract? How unfortunate. He must be getting over-confident.”
“So how is this Game thing supposed to work?”
“The Game is a simple technique. He sets himself up as a leader-type and provider, employs a host of pretty standard chat-up lines from a computer program. Then after making initial compliments to his chosen partner, he then delivers the Neg.”
“The Neg?”
“The Neg is a mildly disparaging remark to put a girl off her guard and stoke anxiety.”
“Surely that wouldn't work.”
“Percentage-wise, it's a successful stratagem.”
“He has done this before?”
“Many times.”
“Just psychology? I don't believe it.”
“Hmm. I bet Dameon met you outside today. Outside this building.”
“Yes. How did you know that?”
“He probably hacked your location from your G-phone so he would notice when you were approaching the building and then made sure you didn't change your mind at the last minute and walk away.”
“Wow. That was part of his plan?”
“Sure. And hacked your personal files too, I suspect. All using the super computer.”
“That's how he knew about my liking for tea and cheese,” said Terri in shock.
“If the super computer can hack the Harmonics store then a personal BragBook page is a cinch. Your jacket is ready by the way?”
“My jacket?”
“I presume it is meant for you? It was fabricating when I entered the apartment.”
“It is not legal. I don't deserve it.”
“No, well... But you deserve something for your experience, don't you think?”
“No, I don't deserve anything.”
Max stood and carried the jacket over to her, “Ok, then but I'd be most grateful if you could take it away. It can't be left here. People might ask questions.”
Terri shyly took the jacket and buried her face in it. She felt so embarrassed.
“Don't worry, it is completely untraceable, you might as well have it. Or destroy it. It's your choice.”
“Who owns this place?”
“It's a club resource. For my sins, I'm a founder member of the club. That's how I have access. Dameon is recent joiner. That's how he got in. But not again. I'll make sure he's thrown out and gets no further access to our facilities.”
“Club?”
“Yes. We call it Mad-Sci-Soc.”
“What does that mean?”
“It's a joke name. It's an abbreviation for the Mad Scientist Society.”