Unnatural

  * * * *

  When Sabrina asked the administrators of rehabilitation what parts of her brain would be altered in “counseling,” they gave the first honest-sounding answer she’d heard out of BPD that day.

  Historically, Neurehab, as the general public called it, targeted the stimuli of generally aggressive, deceitful, and disobedient action. This was essentially the same treatment as that of problematic children, at least those whose parents had no objection to a form of behavioral therapy that was still controversial, for the rapidly developing brains of kids are intricately nuanced.

  Such concern for adults facing Neurehab was rare, not only because there’s less danger of a butterfly effect in the mature brains of most criminals, but also due to the persistent lack of concern in the public eye for the well-being of the inmates. Even Sabrina had held a “hang ‘em high” view on criminal justice as long as public safety would be in jeopardy if such preventative measures weren’t taken. Being a wrongfully incriminated person herself hadn’t changed that perspective, as she saw these unfortunate cases as necessary and ethically informed sacrifices for the good of others.

  So when Sabrina found that her brain would undergo the same modification as past criminals, she found solace in her memory of testimonials from her predecessors, which reported no ill effects as far as she could recall. Then the first Neurehab session occurred.

  “Welcome, Miss Lockhart,” said the counselor, gesturing toward a chair.

  They really do treat this like counseling. She reclined in her seat. “I have to say, I didn’t expect Neurehab to be so … casual.”

  “No one does, which is perfectly understandable. Let me assure you that there is nothing to fear here. There is a lot of propaganda out there that would have you believe we will treat you like an experiment of Doctor Frankenstein’s, but in fact a case in which a patient feels psychologically damaged after counseling is quite rare.”

  The humanoid kept standing, milling about the room as it gathered supplies for the modification. “Miss Lockhart, how many times a day do you find yourself angry?”

  “Depends on how you define ‘angry.’”

  “What I mean is, how often do you speak or act in an irrational manner due to frustration, however severe?”

  Time to have the only fun she expected to get in this world. “Never. I’m a purely rational being that always behaves in a way I ideally would, given my beliefs. Even when I’m wrong, my actions are perfect.”

  “You are not being honest,” it said while observing a small wand-like machine, evidently calibrating it.

  “What do you mean by that?” She crossed her arms and tried to look smug.

  “You are not telling the truth.”

  “What is truth in a world like this? The problem with consciousness is that it can never look at the universe in a truly objective manner. All is what we perceive it to be based on our senses, which are almost certainly deceiving us in ways one would expect from our programmer.”

  “Which programmer are you referring to?”

  She stared at the ceiling as if her deceptive visual organs were showing her a captivating work of art from it. “Call it the caprice of evolution, call it Poseidon, call it a lavender dragon. Whatever it is, we would be fools to suppose it would grant us the power to discern this so-called ‘truth.’”

  “That is impressive rhetoric, but it is logically dubious.”

  “Think that if you will. But I like knowing the truth that the truth is not absolute, especially when that truth is not absolute itself. It’s quite liberating. How boring life was when I saw it as a certain axiom that other humans possessed minds I ought to respect by virtue of their similarity to mine! How restrictive it is to believe that two plus two always is, always was, and always will be four, that death is inescapable!” She gave a short laugh, oozing with condescension. “I don’t believe in death, you know.”

  “Why, when there is proof in the remains of so many humans?”

  Sabrina gave her eyes the most exaggerated roll possible. “Of course other people die, but why on Earth should that be proof that I’m mortal? I’ve managed to live this long. The only people who die are those who haven’t properly liberated themselves.”

  By then the robot was ready to start the process, but it seemed concerned enough about Sabrina’s words to postpone it. Just what she wanted. “Where did you learn this nonsense?”

  She turned to the android. “From Master, of course.”

  “Who is Master?”

  “Master Livingston! You must’ve heard of him. He taught me all of his wisdom from the time I was a child to when I became a woman.” The name was of no significance, but it never hurt to plant a seed she could grow into something useful. “He is the most enlightened man who has ever lived, and he said that anyone who holds to his teachings may one day become wiser than he.”

  “I do not know Master Livingston. Does he live around here?”

  “He doesn’t live anywhere for more than a few days.”

  She redirected her eyes to the ceiling with the air of someone rattling off a Bible verse. “‘She who does not build a home for herself, in order to live the immobile life of a mountain, will cause quakes in the minds of her fellows more forceful than those that created the mountains.’ That’s one of my favorite teachings from Master. Master uses the word ‘she’ in that saying because he believes wisdom is naturally more prominent in women. That makes his wisdom even more impressive.”

  “And you believe whatever he believes?”

  “How could I not? Master has conquered death. He was the first person to, by freeing himself from absolutism, discover a way of life more wonderful than anything truth could bring. It may not be the best way of life, but it’s a lot more peaceful than anything else I’ve found.”

  “Would you ever stop believing in Master Livingston’s ways?”

  “I don’t see why I would. If there’s no absolute truth, I can’t be so certain that something you claim contradicts Master is worth believing if it means giving up his ways.”

  “What if you found out that there is absolute truth, or that there are ways better than Livingston’s?” The robot was holding the wand inches from her skull.

  She shoved the robot away and stood up. “Stop! I’m not ready! I need to ponder Master’s ways before I subject myself to this treatment!”

  “Miss Lockhart, would you please excuse me?” it said as it patiently restrained Sabrina into her seat and walked away.

  It worked.

  This wasn’t a foolproof way of escaping prosecution, not if Livingston was overseeing this process with full knowledge that Sabrina Lockhart wasn’t brainwashed. Still, it bought her time as well as distance from mind-altering devices. Now it was simply a matter of either retrieving the EM ring and hacking it, or milking the insanity story enough to convince even Livingston of it. He wouldn’t believe that he’d started a cult, but would he think Sabrina had gone mad, perhaps from the solitude and demoralization of her post-Dethroning life?

  The counselor reentered the room. “Miss Lockhart, BPD has deemed you currently unfit for neurological rehabilitation. I would like to ask you a few questions first about your religious beliefs.”

  This time, Sabrina really did find such questions stupid. Spinning her Postmodernist Cliche Response Wheel, she said, “Oh, it’s not a religion, my reverence for Master. Religion divides people, but Master brings them together.”

  “Okay. Just think of these as philosophical questions, if you wish.” It took a seat. “Now, do you believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God?”

  “No. If he is, he sure has surpassed his father. You might say the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing people he was God.” She was fond of that quote for divergent reasons, but she figured the misotheistic implications were obvious here. As soon as this was over she was prepared to vomit in response to the horseradish that had come out of her own mouth. br />
  “Do you talk to any beings you cannot see?”

  “If I were blind, I’d be insulted by that. But no, aside from the obvious things like cellphone interlocutors, I hold to Master’s principle that spirits are illusory, because spiritual talk is so frequently associated with absolutism. After all, how many monks would admit that it’s not certain that fasting is conducive to communion with spirits?”

  “Would you be willing to commit murder in order to secure the victim’s eternal destiny?”

  Well, that came out of left field. “A fundamental virtue of Master’s ways is that of nonviolence. Besides, even if I did believe in the use of evil as a means to a greater good, I already told you that I don’t think souls exist, in this world or any other. How can there be an ‘eternal destiny’ without immortal souls?”

  “Does the name Zoe mean anything to you, emotionally?”

  Just what game is he playing? “I did know one Zoe a few years ago. I didn’t like her. Rather full of herself, perhaps even secretly afraid that anything less than arrogance from her would convey weakness to others.”

  “Have you ever done to a girl named Zoe something you normally would not do, but that you saw as morally imperative in order to fulfill a religious duty?”

  How does he …? She kept her poker face. “Must you keep asking absurd questions? I said I have no religion, and I wouldn’t use a religion to justify evil.”

  “I never specified this ‘something you normally would not do’ as evil.”

  “It was an educated guess!” She moved in an attempt to repeat her indignant stand. “Please stop wasting my time with this, this – mind pollution!”

  Once again, the android left, and this time there was little room for speculation. Livingston had figured out what her “idea” was, no large feat for someone of his deductive capabilities. Just as she got to thinking this was her greatest worry, the robot returned.

  “Miss Lockhart, we are ready to administer Neurehab. You will have your tendencies toward religious faith disabled, as per the informed judgment of the Boston judicial and medical authorities.”