* * * * *
“Do you think it odd?” Anand asked.
Franklin looked up from his notebook. Franklin had been writing from the perspective of Anand, as Anand was narrating the story. By writing it in this way, it would be easier to for the feature team to translate Franklins work into a content feature for publication. But now Anand seemed intent on interrupting their plot line to have a sidebar discussion.
“I had a complete lack of remorse,” Anand clarified, “If anything, I found myself able to enjoy life more than I ever had before. I felt euphoric.”
“Hmmm,” Franklin responded, not willing to offer a positive or negative response. He wanted to get back to the narrative as quickly as possible, and so he looked back to the notebook and began vigorously writing again.
“I had lived a strictly moral life,” Anand said, “But now, through the use of the Synaptic Interface Technology I had committed every egregious sin starting with adultery, and ending with murder. I had become a bad person, and I felt no guilt. I felt free. I felt as if the world around me had changed and the old rules no longer applied.”
“What happened when you returned to San Francisco?” Franklin asked in an attempt to keep Anand focused on the story, “Did the argument inside the gunfight resume?”
“No, no,” Anand said, “Quite the opposite. It was as if the entire episode had never happened. We were right back to business as usual.”
Franklin wrote a few words into his notebook.
“One thing…,” Anand continued, “There is one thing that I do remember about that meeting when I returned to San Francisco. Now that you ask, you just reminded me of it.”
Anand explained, “When I walked into the offices on the top floor of the RSI Gaming Company, Christopher Mark and Al McKnight were both there. They came out of their offices to greet me in person. I remember that I shook hands with Chris Mark. Then I went to shake hands with Al McKnight. Normally, he shook with his right hand, however Al McKnight extended his left hand, and we shook left handed. It was a subtle acknowledgement of my skill as a left-handed gunslinger.”
Anand smiled at the memory and then continued, “There was no animosity. After that, we were all in it together.”
“Why?” Franklin asked, “Why did McKnight do it?”
Anand focused his attention back into the present and looked about the small interview room at the minimum security prison in Pleasanton. He considered the grey metal table and the cinder block walls. The overhead fluorescent lights filled the room with an even, but colorless light. From inside this room, it was impossible to tell if it was day or night outside.
“What time is it?” Anand asked, “It seems that I have been talking for hours and hours.”
“It is late,” Franklin agreed.
“To understand the motives behind what happened at Wild West Alive is another chapter. Shall we continue tomorrow?” Anand suggested.
“I cannot be here tomorrow,” Franklin said, “I will be back the following day. We can continue then.”
As Franklin spoke he felt guilt and angst as if he were admitting to a crime; as if he was in a confessional admitting to a sin. He thought Anand would ask where he was going. In reponse, Franklin imagined he would tell him about the death of Blanco and the mysterious appearance of Molly. He had anticipated this conversation and now it seemed as if it had already happened - as if it was a memory.
Franklin shifted nervously, waiting for the expected interrogatory. Anand, sensing there was something more Franklin needed to say, waited quietly.
“I am going to the Savant Organic Robotics dealership tomorrow,” Franklin concluded, sure that this would prod a strong response.
Again, Anand waited for more information.
Franklin felt he needed to tell his story, to share his misgivings.
He continued, “You see, my Warmbot died and the dealership sent over a new model, but there must be a mistake. I never purchased the new one. I do not understand why they sent it to my house. I never discussed any test run or trial period with the sales lady. I also know I cannot afford it - anyway. This is a brand new Warmbot model; very perky. My wife was delighted, but the whole situation is making me nervous. I do not understand why it is there…in my house.”
Anand remained calm, stoic, still, deadpan.
Frustrated, he could not get a response, Franklin concluded, “OK, see you day after tomorrow then.”
Anand was introspective, and then called back to him as he was preparing to leave, “This story that I am telling you, that you are writing in your notebook.”
Franklin looked back at him.
Anand continued, “This is not a pulp feature that you made up. This is a glimpse into the real world; a world in which you live.
Franklin continued to look at Anand - confused.
Anand continued, You are not the author. You are ‘In’ the story. You are a character, and the final chapter is not yet written. Think about the feature that you are developing in your notebook. Is it pulp? Is it content? For you this feature is part of your history. The WetWeb touched you and all the people around you. It was integrated into your society. Can you step out of the story and see - really see the world around you?”
Franklin listened to Anand, but did not understand his message. Franklin sensed there was something wrong, even sinister in the death of Blanco, in the sudden appearance of Molly, and in that something that was watching him from the dark places on his street. He was looking to Anand for answers, but Anand was speaking in riddles.
Franklin stood to leave.
“You don’t understand what I am saying,” Anand declared, “Quite right, quite right. Go home - go deal with your Warmbot issues.”
Franklin paused.
“I will see you the day after tomorrow,” Anand concluded politely.
Anand stood and then exited the interview room by the door leading back into the prison. Franklin watched as the Warmbot guard, who was waiting outside the door, escorted him down the hallway. Through the thick glass of the small window in the door, Franklin watched as Anand and the guard grew smaller, and receded into a world that Franklin did not know and could not enter. Franklin watched Anand’s distorted form until he turned a corner and was out of sight.