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“. . .and the present is the worst farce of all”
Excerpt from LOM Book Two
By Frank S. Lechuga
Chapter Four
ENETHAM
“This conspiracy seeks to reconquer the Southwest, not militarily, but racially, linguistically and culturally through the imposition of millions of Mexicans and other brown-skinned Latinos into the United States and the forcing out of the Euro-dominant bloodlines from the lands Mexico lost in 1848. In California, the project is getting close to actualization as we speak.”
We provided this quotation to give the Examiners an additional reference in the discussion on the American Disunion that takes place in the following chapter.
-- Order of the Exemplars of the First Harmonic; entered on this day, 9 Malinalli 1 Cuetzpalin 4 Acatl, 13.10.1.8.12 in the Long Count --
A commotion of feathers and a screeching preceded the macaw’s launch off the interfacing pod’s roof. The avian left behind just one more dollop on a crown of mucky dung that had accumulated during the two days Emerig Dana had been floating in the bath of conductivegel.
Dana’s head and neck jutted up just above the soup’s surface. Socketed to the nape of his neck was an interface cable melding his cerebral cortex to MetroKom’s massive mainframe. Fed liquid protein intravenously and his meager body wastes siphoned off, IntraCity Security’s Supreme Martial Commander had remained immersed in the nidus between MetroKom’s virtual reality and the three-dimensional world, the massive computer network managed and surveilled. His sentience extended throughout a web of listening devices, CCTV cameras, and arrays of subordinate computer networks and memory storages monitored byMetroKom.
Officially searching for enemies and threats against SPAAS’ social and political order, Dana’s mind stretched out, reaching for infinity, his private version of infinity. Periodically he repeated his mandate and expectation: “MetroKom—you can take me beyond the world your eyes and ears invade. I know you can find what Iseek.”
 |
| Cynthia |
***
Pointe turned around just in time to see the metacar drive off with Cynthia on Nerdlove Boulevard. Intent on avoiding any checking in or registering, he had ordered Adelita to drop him off at the Institute’s open frontage to avoid going in through the main visitor’s gate on the campus’ other side. He had also come to the Norditch campus hours before the appointed time, knowing Mitsu’s media crew would not have arrivedyet.
Activating his helmet to fend off the dirty rain’s pattering annoyance, Pointe walked onto the Institute’s central quad and headed toward Norditch Library.
He noted how its atypical colonnade of slanted, sharp-edged beams gave the four- story, salmon-tinted building a certain massive, monumental appearance. And its building-wide, very impressive steps added to the monumentality of the Library’s terrace courtyard, which had the architectural distinction of wrapping around the building’s four colonnaded sides. Protecting the courtyard from the hostile climate was an oversized, transparent, slatted eco-curtain attached to the four-story-high ceiling.
Mitsu’s new learning system, Mnemosyne, awaited him on that terrace, just on the other side of the transparent eco-curtain.
Everything had been staged to produce footage for advertising that would sell Mnemosyne to the privatized educational enterprises all over the world that had replaced public educational systems. The visual metaphor would be clear and dramatic: A man alone walking to a great library to obtain the knowledge of the world through learning system that would expedite what would have taken years to learn.
Pointe slowed his pace and nonchalantly scanned the grounds.
It was a weekend during an interim between trimesters, and there were no students, faculty or staff on campus. Only a few workers, civilians or regulars, could be seen.
Noticing how his booted feet shattered the pool-size puddles mirroring the gray sky above and his reflection, he thought about how now that he longer had an advocate within Mitsu his position had become suddenly tenuous. To survive, he had to assume that the Eternal Corporation’s obligation to protect him had died with Mr. Song. Contracts be damned.
In a worst case scenario—he would have been instructed to come here to Norditch in a ruse to lure him to a place where it would be easier to turn him over to IntraCity Command or worse, to PsyPol, for killing the renegade troopers. And he did not wholly accept what Adelita had told him—that the robot’s loyalty to him would take precedence over the Eternal Corporation that created and programmedit.
The real robot, not this Adelita persona, but Armida XG-7 had recorded his violence, legally questionable violence even under martial law. Mitsu could have accessed Armida XG-7’s memory while the metacar had been docked in the Golden Hills Emporium for repairs. That information would be used against him if it were to be turned over to IntraCity.
For all he knew, Armida XG-7 could be data-linked to someone in Mitsu and had already sent data to its real masters. In which case they would know everything.
--But why? Why would Mitsu have provided him with this sophisticated killing machine in the first place, after they had invested so much in him to make him a marketing persona for an educational technology?
And his recent public violence regardless of its defensive intent if exposed would make him a questionable spokesperson for an educational product. Of course, media lords could spin anything dark into white or gray. And anything and everything could be turned into Reality Theater. Even with that, none of it made anysense.
No—something else was going on, something huge.
For a reason he could not fathom, someone in Mitsu, somebody very high wanted him to access the new learning machine, and it probably had nothing to do with a marketing campaign. He was being swept along by a greater dharma whose intricacies or purpose he could not yet perceive. He concluded it did not matter upon reaching the Library’s steps. Nothing would stop him in his quest to know the truth.
He deactivated his helmet and looked up to see some workers doing something on the terrace courtyard. They saw him through the curtains and seemed to recognize him. A poor man’s celebrity, he felt obligated to acknowledge them. So with raindrops splattering his face he nodded at them. They smiled and noddedback.
Their presence invoked in him an image of Charlie Cross walking up these very steps and onto this very same terrace. It brought back what Garz had said, “Charlie lost his mind because he had learned something the Overkind and IntraCity have never wanted us to know about. They found something ancient. A power object Charlie called it.”
Yes, Charlie had learned something.
And whatever that something could be—it had everything to do with PsyPol’s erasing the memories of everyone who had been at the Hansen Dam park grounds during the RAAC’s last attack.
--What did it all have to do with the Ameraryan War?
--And what did those Tetrad scientists and intelligence officers discover in the Citadel of the Anazazi dig? What happened to Charlie there?
He would learn about what happened to Charlie at the Anazazi dig when he got his hands on a Microcept R disk drive. But now he thought with some excitement and anticipation he would find answers to his other questions from the learning machine that was only a few feet away. He took the first step up the terrace-stairway, and the clear plastonium eco-curtains attached to the overhanging roof opened for him. They closed behind him after he had taken a few steps into the courtyard, his footsteps echoing down from the four-story high ceiling.
The workers turned to look at him and then stepped away from the learning machine, the Library’s interior behind it visible through the tinted glass walls and front entrance.
Mnemosyne was as big as a small vehicle, boasting portholes with green tinted tempered glass. Its outer shell, the color of blue gunmetal, was made of a composite of plastonium and light metal alloys.
Contrasting against four-story high, smoke tinted windows, Mnemosyne’s jointed legs, composite tracks and bifurcated, metalized pod shape gave it an appearance of a robotic bulb-shaped mini-tank or vehicle of some kind. In fact, this version of Mnemosyne did have robotic capabilities. Designed by Mitsu engineers to be mobile so that it could access information centers anywhere, its legs and tracks would enable it to board storage areas on any transport. It was equipped with various wifi modems and capacities for data transmission and reception but for this theatrical debut it had been connected to the Library’s memory banks and power source via two thick data cables, one a clear plastic-covered copper, the other a thick fiber-optic. Both cables were plugged into an exposed stainless steel socket built into the Library’swall.
A worker pulled an exterior handle, and a circular door slid open, revealing Mnemosyne’s interior. A small aluminum bullet-shaped console provided a user with two large plastic buttons, one black for starting the program, a red button for ending it. Behind the small console were two large curvilinear panels that would provide visual grounding for the system’s dual sensorial interfaces, one for each cerebralhemisphere.
Another worker offered Pointe a small towel. He took it, wiped his face, head and neck while two other workers dried off his armor. Thanking them, he entered the pod and sat on a comfortably contoured bench with a flexible headrest and ample space for two or three. The circular door closed and fresh air started flowing into the pod’s interior.
He pressed the black button. A pleasant ringing sound and soft throbbing light prompted him to grip the two handle-like devices attached to the console.
Miniaturized scanners began collecting data on his neurological responses, determining visual parameters, physical energetics, coordination, reflexes and sensorial attributes, using all this data to reconfigure the instructional format to meet his physiological specifications. At the same time, with circuits and nano-mechanisms humming and whirring with power and purpose, Mnemosyne imported selected memory storage from the Library’s vast archives. A Bose array of sound systems proceeded to construct the audio dimension while high definition imagery poured through Pointe’s retinas into his visual cortex.
Within seconds, Mnemosyne streamed a virtualized reality into his brain, his cerebral cortex, in turn, projecting this data onto his mental and morphic fields.
First, there was darkness then a myriad of different colored lights. A powerful white light exploded in his mind’s eye, and then there was something like a tunnel that reminded him of descriptions given by people returning from near death experiences. This tunnel disappeared and a great bowl‑like expanse, something like an amphitheater without seats materialized and enveloped him. Pointe found himself seated on a chair carved out of what appeared to be gray polished granite set on top of a platform made of a similarmaterial.
Above the horizon a cobalt sky suddenly imaged and Pointe thought that the only other experience that he could vaguely compare this to was being inside a sophisticated 3D computer game or an IntraCity Security combat simulation but this Mnemosyne immersion was much more intense. Its virtualization was almost perfect.
Some twenty feet ahead a large portal materialized.
A tall, beautiful woman emerged. She turned toward him and continued walking until she stopped only a few feet in front of him. A pleasant citrus fragrance seemed to be preceding her. A long, gauzy dress made of a delicate cotton-like material with subtle fine golden and silver threading covered her tall, statuesque body. It ended just above her ankles to reveal exquisite feet graced by silvered sandals and up above, superb shoulders and arms, her perfect olive-white skin glowingwarmly.
Glowing auburn hair crowned her, and she had dark eyes that sparkled with the light of knowledge accumulated over the span of known human history. She was a programmers’ masterpiece and despite his knowing that it was all cybernetic artifice his blood quickened.
“Welcome, Samuel Pointe.” Her voice rang with soothing authority. “I am Mnemosyne, a learning archetype partially created by your mind through my maximum sensorial interface. In this virtual reality, I am an ideal vehicle for guiding you in your attainment of a universal education through completion of this Advanced Education Certification program.
“Please keep in mind you that you can exit this program at any time by pushing that large red button on the console. You merely have to think of exiting and the console will materialize.”
Both bullet-shaped console and green tinted portholes materialized then disappeared. “Learning program,” Pointe said. “Learning archetype whatever you are—your Certification program can wait. There is something else I must learn.”
Mnemosyne said, “Our program is sensitive to learners’ needs and interests. What is this something you must first learn about?”
Pointe said, “Our world is a shadow . . . a skeleton of the world that preceded us—a world in a time when the United States’ population alone peaked at over four hundred million.
“What changed everything? What brought on the Disunion? Why did Ameraryans attack the old United States federal government and the other states? Why do Outer Cohorts have to live under this Strategic Population Analysis and Administration System, e‑gates and Partitions? And why did so many Overkind abandon Earth for a space colonization program?”
Mnemosyne clasped her perfect hands. “Outer Cohorts,” she said, “with your designation are not authorized to access information about SPAAS nor Tetrad policies or plans on Earth or in space—”
“—I am being reclassified to a status that would entitle me to have that information.”
“Yes, but first you would have to complete your Advanced Education Certification program and be reclassified.”
Pointe stood up, and the small console materialized. “I will walk away from this Mnemosyne program . . . neither this Certification nor reclassification matter to me more than getting answers to those questions.”
Mnemosyne rematerialized close enough for him to see the steely look in her eyes. “You are under contract to complete this program—”
Pointe met the learning archetype’s stare. “My walking away at this time does not constitute a contract reneger. There is a six-month clause that has not expired. In fact, my completion of the SynchroCept program qualified me to advance and prioritize my learning objectives. Whoever is running this program is overlooking that part of the contract.”
Mnemosyne said, “Your impetus to acquire knowledge is respected by Mitsu Corporation. Your safety is our concern. There are certain SPAAS and IntraCity firewalls blocking access to the historical archives you wish to access.”
Pointe said, “Then, those firewalls must be overwritten. You have to have the capacity to do this, Mnemosyne.”
The learning archetype said, “Those firewalls have been programmed with very unpleasant, dangerous personas to discourage attempts to circumvent or override their function.”
Pointe said, “I signed away liability for my safety with my inclusion of the metacar in the contract for the SynchroCept learning system and all the advertising derived from its completion. I will take my chances.”
“Very well, Samuel.”
Without warning a large illuminated sign appeared in the cobalt sky behind the learning archetype: Warning—You Are Now Approaching ENETHAM!
It continued flashing, the lettering alternating between red and orange colors. Still standing, Pointe said, “What does that acronym mean?”
The learning archetype materialized next to him, reaching toward him as if to accompany him. She said, “There is no time to explain, Samuel. I will walk you to the portal, and the ENETHAM firewall-guardian will materialize.
“To override the firewall you have to neutralize the guardian. Any assistance I can provide will be totally contingent on your force of will, imagination and mental agility. The maximum sensorial interface has enmeshed your peripheral and central nervous system, and you can be terminated or hurt by the guardian’s protective actions.”
“Hurt, like killed or killed, sliced or stabbed?”
“Yes, shot with a bullet or burned and blown apart by explosives or, at least, your mind will believe that is what has happened to you and your physical being will be injured, even terminated. Damage to your physiology will not necessarily replicate damage caused by a virtualized attack, but it will be severe, even permanent or lethal.”
Pointe started walking toward the portal, Mnemosyne at his side.
After a few steps, she paused and said, “Samuel, but I continue to insist that you attempt to understand what you will be learning from a universal perspective.”
He turned toward her. “Just exactly what does that mean—this universal perspective?”
“It means that you must make every effort to view this history from all of humankind’s perspective not just from your personal or Cohort experience.”
Pointe quickly processed this, then concentrated on the portal whose border now featured the universal solar symbol—eight golden rays, pointing outward. These started spinning, transforming into whirling bright orange, blue, red, yellow balls. They whirled faster and faster and then retracted, emitting a sound akin to a propeller or a powerful fan, phasing after a few seconds into a multicolored membrane covering the entire portal.
Then a bulge appeared on the membrane. It quickly morphed into something quasi- anthropomorphic, an outer skin patterned in bright blues and reds that shaped into a full- fledged humanoid form. It burst through the portal and jumped into a roll to stand up and lean back. The firewall guardian then proceeded to pose—arms hidden by billowy sleeves, gloved palms open, chubby fingers—as if to accept applause from an audience.
Suddenly Pointe thought he smelled something sickeningly sweet, something almost putrescent.
Glaring at Pointe, the clown grimaced and puffed out his chest. Hands in ragged gloves tugged at an oversized collar.
“Listen boy,” he said in a tone denoting seriousness. “You are not authorized by IntraCity Security to get past ENETHAM . . . even though you are going through a reclassification. It’s best you allow your lovely lady friend to serve you only what’s on the menu.” He paused and winked. “Maybe if you complete your lesson in the correct way, she’ll have a special little treat foryou.”
Leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees, the malevolent clown guffawed, “Pwaaa haaaahaaaa . . . Hehe, haaahaaa!”
Pointe took in the sight of the virtualized clown. “Someone is trying to tell me that my desire to acquire this information . . . to learn the history of how this society came to be what it is—that my aspiration for this knowledge is a bad joke, something to be mocked.”
The clown smirked and raised his hands up. “You said it, not me! Hahaa!”
Pointe raised his left hand. “Mnemosyne, materialize a Masamune katana in my hand.”
“Samuel,” she said. “Are you sure you want to go this way? It will take some time but we can rewrite the protocol, and you can avoid this confrontation. This is not necessary.”
“Do it!” he said.
A weapon, sheathed in a black lacquered wooden scabbard, appeared in his left hand. He expertly drew the blade with his right hand and made two horizontal cuts in figure eight. Dropping the scabbard, he raised the weapon, holding its handle with both hands for a downwardcut.
ENETHAM became still and silent, his eyes widening at the sight of the beautiful weapon. His body leaning backward, he took an exaggerated step back, raising his billowing sleeved arms, opening his two fat, gloved hands in a gesture of acquiescence. The clown smirked again and lowered his head. He was clearly displaying mock fear and submission. He looked up, still smirking. “Whoa boy . . . this is a learning activity, not combat simulation.”
Pointe took two steps. “Nothing will stop me from obtaining the knowledge that I seek.”
Almost sliding, ENETHAM took another exaggerated step back, both palms still open. He looked up at Pointe. “You’re taking all of this too seriously. Human history is the joke. The past mocks the present and the present is the worst farce of all especially for those who . . . well, were given a lousy deck of cards! Heehaw . . . haha . . .heehaaa!
“They shouldn’t even bother to try to learn the rules of the game!
Best thing is just to watch the game and pray they bet on the winning side. That’s why religion wasinvented!”
Almost imperceptibly, Pointe edged closer, sidling toward the portal. “Tell me Mr. Bozo,” he said. “ENETHAM or whatever you’re called, tell me. Is war and slaughtering innocent people a laughing matter?”
“Listen, son, you don’t want to go there—and don’t be so ready to throw stones of absolutism and righteousness. There aren’t any innocent players in your human game of life and death. That’s why I’m here, to convince you not to take this history crap seriously. You really should just focus on the present. Forget history. It’s a waste of time. Learn some portableskills!”
Pointe continued moving toward the portal.
“Son,” ENETHAM said, “what you don’t understand is that we’ve liberated you people from the burden of your history. You don’t know what you’re doing.” An Uzi SMG materialized in the clown’s fat hands.
The warrior moved even faster than in real time, his katana already cutting downward, cutting the submachine gun in two, causing sparks to set off a round in the chamber. Then with a reverse horizontal cut, Pointe severed ENETHAM’s torso, the upper part falling at his feet, the arms reaching out to his legs, the head stillintact.
“You don’t know,” the clown’s head said. “You don’t know what you’re doing . . . whaaat yur dooing . . . youuuu dodon’t knooow whaaaaat yurrr doooinnng . . . we freeeeed yooouuu fromm yourrr hissstorryyy . . . hissstorryyy . . . hissstorryyy.”
Pointe stepped back. “My weapon,” he said, “is a cyber rendition of a real sword, a historical sword, crafted in thirteenth century Japan, a nation that existed in history and was incorporated into the United States of Eternal Asia.”
What was left of ENETHAM started to melt away, only its head remaining intact, looking at up at Pointe, eyes blinking, but otherwise wide open.
Pointe kicked aside the Uzi pieces. “That weapon you were going to use, filthy clown, is also a weapon from history. Whoever wrote this firewall program never expected anyone to use history as a weapon againstit.”
Mnemosyne walked up to what was left of ENETHAM, studying the mess. Then she looked up at Pointe. “Now you know to what extent the powers-that-be are determined to keep unauthorized users away from classified historical archives. More than ever, it is necessary that you acquire a universal perspective on what you are about to learn.”
Pointe said, “Powers-that-be are not my concern right now, learning program. Are you coming with me, learning archetype?” He did not wait for an answer and with cyber-katana in hand, turned around and started walking to theportal.
Suddenly a banner with huge pulsing red letters appeared above him:
Warning! You Have Breached ENETHAM FIREWALL – Protocol for ETHIDERA FIREWALL Being Activated! Protocol for ETHIDERA FIREWALL Being Activated!
Pointe asked, “So what is this ETHIDERA?”
Mnemosyne ignored his question. “We must get away from this location immediately. I hope for your sake you do not have to breach the ETHIDERA firewall. It is far more dangerous and deceptive than you can conceive, SamuelPointe.”
Frank S. Lechuga, born in Los Angeles, California, is a veteran of the early Chicano Movement. As a young man he attended the historic Crusade for Justice’s National Youth Conference in Denver, Colorado, in 1969 and participated in numerous demonstrations throughout the early ‘70s. One of the student-founders of the Chicano/a Studies Department at California State University, Northridge, he has also been an English teacher and university counselor. Frank studied Hwarang Do, the martial art that figures centrally in his sci-fi novel, LOM, under his brother, Master Instructor Jesse Lechuga, who still teaches martial arts.