* * * * *
Franklin left through the visitor door behind him. He passed through the prison security protocol and then went past the security gates, and finally exited the prison. Franklin stepped into the night air. The night was bright, lit by a full moon that filled the scene with a dim luminescence. People and shapes looked fuzzy in the half dark as if reality was out of focus or obscured by an invisible fog - a fog that was just now beginning to lift.
The entrance of the prison which had looked so familiar this morning now looked strange. Franklin searched to get his bearings. He made his way to the street and joined a small group of people standing in a skimmer taxi queue. Looking down the line, he realized the people in line were all Synapse hosts who were here on behalf of content men who were controlling them remotely. They were probably all being used to interview Al McKnight. The content men had long since Synapped off, and the hosts were talking about inane and meaningless things that people who have no personal context talk about, or they were simply standing idly by, waiting to catch a skimmer taxi back to their college dorm or apartment.
Franklin felt smug around the hosts, in that he was getting the better story. McKnight was trying to re-write his legacy, and was probably filling these content men with bluster and half-truths. Anand was telling Franklin the real story of the WetWeb. When Franklin’s feature is published it will become a sensation, and the other content features based on Al McKnight’s version of the history, will seem flawed in comparison. Franklin was getting the truth, and the public loved content, real content.
Eventually, it was his turn and he squeezed into the skimmer taxi. On his ride home he did not review his notes as he normally did. Instead he stared out the window at the dark blue and purple shapes that sped past. His mind attempted to register each object as its form materialized out of the dark, sharpening only briefly, and then disappearing again as the skimmer sped past.
“There’s a sign. That’s a tree. That’s a skimmer,” he checked them off in his mind as they passed by, “There’s a person walking, or is it a Warmbot?” He looked intently, and then it was past and new shapes appeared.
Franklin’s interview with Anand today had left him unsettled, but he did not know why. As the skimmer proceeded noiselessly north towards Sacramento, he brooded.
The shapes passing by him in the world outside his skimmer window seemed unrecognizable. The longer he looked out the window, the more he felt he was moving through a landscape that was foreign. As if he were excluded from the world outside. He was an observer, but not a participant. Eventually Franklin grew tired. He closed the window in the skimmer taxi, so as to block the strange images that emerged from the dim light of the full moon. He settled back into the seat and forced dark thoughts from his mind. Eventually, he dozed, and in his half sleep he was beset with images drifting through his thoughts. He saw an image of Dolly greeting him at the door. She was smiling and content. She was proud of his accomplishments as a popular content feature author. Then, there was an image of Molly, his new Warmbot. It was dusting and cleaning. Then it wis turning down the bed. It looks back at him and its emotionless face stared into his mind. Watching more than his movements, Molly was watching his thoughts.
Franklin dozed. The skimmer bumped, crossing a pothole in the off ramp as it exited the highway, jolting Franklin from his sleep.
Franklin opened the window shade and could see the skimmer was only a few blocks from his home. His misgivings over Molly and Blanco were amplified by proximity and immediacy. He felt he was about to re-live the encounter with the dark watcher across the street. As the skimmer continued forward, bringing him inexorably closer to his street and to his home, his anxiety continued to mount - Blanco, Molly, Dolly, and Something watching him from the dark. Franklin recalled Anand’s words. There was something he had said when Franklin was leaving the interview.
Anand had said, “This is not a pulp feature that you made up. This is a glimpse into the real world; a world in which you live.”
As the skimmer glided closer to his house, Franklin’s misgivings evolved into a blinding fear. This was something that he could not explain, but nevertheless, Franklin was not ready to walk onto his dark street and he certainly was not ready to enter his dark home.
“Stop!” Franklin blurted out, surprising himself.
“Stop, let me out,” he repeated.
The skimmer taxi hesitated, then slowed, then stopped. Franklin paid the fare to the Warmbot driver without comment and then exited. He stepped onto the unknown sidewalk and then he watched as the Warmbot driver pulled away. He continued to watch as the lights of the Skimmer receded into the dark street, and then turned a corner. He watched until it was gone. Now he was alone. He was alone and he was outside of his routine.
“If Anand thinks I am a character in his story, then here is a chapter that he did not expect,” Franklin thought to himself.
Franklin could not explain his reaction. He did not know why he was here or what he would do next, but he felt he was striking out in an original direction. He felt certain that he was on a new path, and this was a path he intended to follow.
Franklin looked down the empty street and he saw houses and trees. If he went this way, he would find his way to his house. He looked in the other direction. In this direction he would be going back towards the highway. Here was a new path. This was the way he wanted to go.
Franklin started walking towards the highway. He did not have a plan. He did not have a destination. He did not think about where he would go. He did not think about what he would find. As he walked along the sidewalk, he noticed a cat scampering across his path and then out into the street. The bright moonlight illuminated its eyes and made the white parts of its fur glow.
“A cat,” Franklin said out loud.
He was thinking that perhaps it was a cat that startled him last night when he was standing in front of his house. This seemed like a plausible explanation. As he walked, he grew more confident, thinking that his strange encounter at his doorstep was nothing more than a cat and an over active imagination.
Franklin crossed under the highway. As he walked, he listened to the quiet humming of the late night skimmer traffic. To his right, he could see the lights of a bright modern Coffee Café. Through the wide windows, he could see there was a large group of customers inside. They were sitting at small tables, or standing in line in front of the counter. Behind the counter, a Warmbot was steaming milk, and another was working the cash register. The queue of customers at the counter reminded him of the Synapse hosts that he had seen in the skimmer taxi queue in front of the prison. These Coffee Café customers were probably all Synapse hosts who had completed a day of serving as the eyes, ears, and voice of state representatives and lobbyists who worked in the Sacramento government district. The politicians controlled them remotely, so they could avoid flying into the capital. It was more convenient to simply rent a local Synapse host and perform the duties of the state from the comfort of the Synapse suit that was located in their home office. The people that rented their bodies out as Synapse hosts, gathered here at the end of the day, to drink warm coffee and recover from their unconscious exertions.
Looking at the crowd standing inside the Coffee Cafe, Franklin again heard the words from Anand Ramasubramanian. They Echoed in his mind like a warning - like a prophecy.
Franklin heard Anand saying, “The WetWeb touches you and all the people around you. The WetWeb is integrated into your society.”
Franklin turned left. He instinctively wanted to move away from the Coffee Café. As he walked along, he noticed that he was now entering an older part of Sacramento. As he walked, he observed that many of the buildings he was passed had become dilapidated. He walked past a gas station that had never converted to skimmer fuel. The old fashioned gas station had a wire mesh fence along the perimeter with signs affixed to the fence that said, “Keep Out??
? and “No Trespassing.”
Franklin walked past shops, and as he did so, he looked into their darkened windows. He could see only his own reflection in the glass. He walked past a tattoo parlor and a hamburger stand. All the businesses on this street were closed. But, the moon was shining brightly on this quiet street, so he kept walking.
From down the street, walking towards him from the opposite direction, he could see a tiny figure slowly growing in size as it grew nearer to him. Soon he perceived a feminine form. As they continued to grow closer together, the lady walking towards him became more distinct. In the bright moon light, Franklin could see her clearly, she was now half a block away. But, before he was close enough to say, “Good Evening,” she turned and stepped through a door.
When Franklin got to the same spot some moments later, he could see it was an old style bar. Red curtains on the windows blocked any view into the interior. A sign on the outside depicted a cheerful Chimneysweep holding a brush in one hand, and he seemed to be cheerfully whistling a tune. The bar seemed inviting. It was very much the opposite from the Coffee Café that he had observed some blocks back. Franklin grabbed the handle of the door and pulled, swinging the door open wide. He stepped in.
The bar was dimly lit, but still it felt cheerful inside. Franklin could see a central bar with stools, some tables in the center, and booths along the wall. Each table and booth had a single small candle flickering from inside a colored glass container. There were only a few patrons.
The woman whom he had seen enter a few moments earlier was settling into a booth along the back. She was sitting alone. Franklin also noticed that an elderly couple was occupying a table. Sitting at the bar was a gentleman with white hair. Behind the bar was a human bartender. He smiled welcomingly. There were no Synapse hosts getting off of work in this bar, and clearly there were no Warmbots working here. Franklin felt he had come to the right place.
As Franklin settled onto a bar stool. The Bartender introduced himself and the other fellow who was sitting at the bar.
“My name is Chester, and this here is Thomas,” Chester said.
“Hello, my name is Franklin,” Franklin replied, and then they shook hands all around. The atmosphere was friendly and convivial. Franklin felt comfortable here.
“What would you like?” Chester asked.
Franklin was not accustomed to ordering drinks at a bar. He asked for a Vodka Martini, because this is a drink that he remembered tasting in pulp features, where he pretended he was a suave spy on some oblique mission. A mission which inevitably ended with sex and violence.
Chester prepared and poured the drink using great flourish and showmanship. Chester had previously chilled the glass, and before he poured the alcohol from the shaker, he swirled a dash of vermouth around the interior of the glass. Then, filling the shaker with the vodka and ice, he shook it well. Chester then strained the cocktail into the chilled glass. The olive that Chester used as a garnish was green and plump, and had a bit of garlic in the center.
Franklin sipped at his drink, and then grinned with enjoyment. The drink was well made.
Chester smiled broadly. He clearly enjoyed simple appreciation from his customers.
“What a delight,” Franklin thought, “To be served by a human behind the bar instead of a Warmbot. This is a luxury that I know the elite class enjoy. But here, in this forgotten bar off the highway, in a forgotten part of town, the owner, perhaps Chester himself, cannot afford a Warmbot servant.”
“It’s ironic,” Franklin mused to himself,“Sometimes the very rich and the very poor share things in common.”
And so, it was with the WebWeb. Neither the rich, nor the poor would Synap in to the WetWeb to manipulate remote hosts. Both the rich and the poor were served by human servants, and not Warmbots, but for very different reasons. And for the same very different reasons, the rich and the poor never had a Synaptic interface device implanted into their Brain stems. The rich and powerful would not let their bodies be controlled remotely. There were risks to their powerful empires and personal fortunes. The poor, at the opposite end of the spectrum, could simply not afford to pay for the implant procedure.
Franklin liked this idea. The more he turned it over in his head. The more he thought about it, the more he decided that he had struck upon a simple truth here. It was a truth central to the relationship between the social classes and was central to the history of the WetWeb. He decided to write it down.
Franklin finished his drink and then ordered another. While Chester was mixing and pouring, Franklin reached into his bag and retrieved his notebook. He opened it on the bar and flipped to the last page. He read his notes where he had described Anand’s meeting with Christopher Mark and Al McKnight. He also wrote where Anand had described the left handed handshake that sealed his involvement with them - the left handed handshake which they used to seal their complicity in the murders at Wild West Alive.
“After that, we were all in it together,” Franklin had written, quoting Anand.
Reading this now, Franklin remembered Anand’s words when they parted,“You are not the author; you are ‘in’ the story. You are a character, and the final chapter is not yet written.”
Chester served the fresh martini. Franklin took a long drink. The warmth from the alcohol filled his wide frame. He felt confident. He felt independent. Confident because he was outside his routine and free from Anand’s presumptuous classification of him as a bit player in Anand’s biography.
“We will see who the author is,” Franklin said to himself.
Franklin turned the page to start fresh. At the top of a fresh page of the notebook and in large print he wrote, “Chapter 10.”
“The very rich and the very poor do not suffer the company of Warmbots, nor do they Synap into experiential features. Those with great power and those with no power are equally insulated from the WetWeb.”
-Franklin Tempo