In the main greenhouse this afternoon, I investigated a dead tomato plant. Nearby, one of the helpers saw the results of my forensic gardening-- moldy roots and a dried stalk with shriveled, tiny, green fruit.
“No worries, Susine,” she said. “Soon, we won't have to remember what it feels like to fail.”
From a couple rows away, another voice called out. “The memory cleaning is going to be so good for us. I already know exactly what I want to get rid of!”
Their conversation continued. “Me too! What group are you in?”
“The first group! Christolb made sure of it.”
“Lucky you! I'm jealous.”
I left, walking past the goat barn and the chicken coop, through the oak grove to the overlook, then between a couple boulders to descend home on the foot path.
At the valley floor, I took a deep breath. This place has always been part of the compound, but no Genubei ever lived out here before.
It's been a month since I moved out of my suite in the main building. I needed to escape the crowds of new members up there.
The other reason was a calling to manage the compound's waste-- an important, thankless task with no oversight, a solitary job with no visitors. In other words, just right for me.
I knew of this place's existence and its reputation as an out-of-sight-out-of-mind wasteland. But, I admit, it never occurred to me to be curious about what it might actually be like.
I remember when I first wandered down to the valley three months ago. It was in the midday heat of a summer day and I was meandering through the shady woods, following a deer path, foraging for edibles.
As the animal trail neared the open area, the stench was horrible. Flies moved in massive swarms across oozing deltas of green and orange sludge. Back then, the compound's waste lines emptied directly onto the ground from the plateau above. And somehow, I did not run away.
The path of destiny moves in mysterious ways and true-tell, I did not question why I continued to visit the valley every day thereafter.
All that matters really is the peace I felt here, from the get-go. A sense of calling-- this natural place needed balance and so did I.
First task was to dredge and establish the algae waste pools. The black water system now can handle the fecal waste from thousands of humans. I installed microbial fuel cells to provide bio-electrical power for my shed and to support the needs of the compound. The vermiculture composting system has been so successful that I plan to expand it to treating wastewater.
And, as far as bio-tissue disposal, I'm nurturing a colony of dermestid beetles in a passive solar outbuilding near the Slab.
Of course, the native scavengers do most of the large-scale decomposition work. It's amazing how much the turkey vultures, ravens, raccoons, yellow jackets, flies, maggots, ants, and fungi accomplish. They work peacefully, causing suffering to no one and inspiring me.
All of us Genubei are taught to contemplate the impermanence of being alive and our place in the cycle of life's energy. Each of us learns the words and some of us directly experience the truth of it. For me, out here, this is the place I approach enlightenment.
The Slab itself is a flat, 10 meter x 15 meter, granite surface a few centimeters above the surrounding ground. Visible on it today: a picked-clean human skeleton, a dead goat with drying skin stretched over the rib cage, and hundreds of scattered, white bones.
Any Genubei worldwide is allowed to send their body here and the average flow is three per month
I feel a sense of purpose tending to the cadavers of the members and the carcasses of our farm animals. I plan to exist here until the All calls me home.
I am a contented death hermit.
I've decided something… that I'll continue to make these pulp journals and to note my observations. But, I will no longer burn them. I will hide them.
The day may come when a human needs to know what happened before we all became robots with nip-and-tuck memories.
I don't get involved in politics. But, even I know that President Prehvost was elected to “halt the decay”. Clearly that is unnatural and impossible, but that won't stop her.
Her plan involves memory manipulation and the Genubei. And here we are, allowing her to waltz in our front door...
The cool, evening air is settling in the valley and I have moved into the shed, my home. Last night I had my first fire in this little wood stove. It was covered in dust behind the goat area and I arranged for a cargo bot to bring it down yesterday.
Now I am warming my dinner on top of it. Delicious. Thanks-be to the great All for this moment.
I sound the bell and Dahra speaks right away. “Her food smells so good! It must be spaghetti or, no-- lasagna, that's it! We have a chef bot at the warren who makes that. Pretty good sensory work, Unit. I mean, Seebi.”
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“Thank you, Dahra.”
“When do I get to eat?”
“There's a time for that. It's coming.”
“It's weird just sitting alone in this room.”
“Do you feel alone, Dahra?”
She ignores my question and asks her own. “How much longer until I can have a break?”
“Relatively soon. This process requires a certain degree of overwhelm to be effective. I monitor to assure that you remain within optimum bounds.”
“I don't want to feel overwhelmed and without Bot-bot...”
“I know, Dahra. Let's feed you some more mems. You'll find them digestible nourishment.”
“Is it still Susine?”
“Do you want that?”
She nods.
I sound the bell and project the next entry from Susine's journal.
Earlier, I was placing fresh lavender in the vases at the end of each row of seats in the empty Round. The leadership training for this memory manipulation tool is happening today.
While I was preparing, I saw the government's expert standing alone on our brightly lit, circular stage, staring up at her projected script and mouthing the words:
- Listen for trigger
- Administer dose
- Provide chosen soothe image
- Verify success
"Magical. Seductive. Hypnotically easy.” Christolb's voice boomed from the other side of the Round. He strode down the aisle, past the empty seats, and onto the stage next to the government's expert.
He looked her directly in the eye. "What does it feel like when it happens? The actual memory erasing."
I watched the government's expert as she replied with hardly a pause. "Technically, it is not erasing. Specific brain pathways dry out, one could say. The residue is absorbed in a natural process."
“And, that's it. Gone. No recollection." Christolb nodded. “Forgetting on demand. Hmmm. Wouldn't that encourage people to be reckless and break laws knowing they can simply claim no responsibility?"
“Monitoring may be necessary.”
“Ah! You don't know for sure what people will do.” He smiled and gestured flamboyantly, while her eyes went to the lack of two fingers on his left hand.
I have wondered if Christolb deliberately showcases his unusual anatomy. Probably.
He walked his circle on the stage. "All of us, who you'll meet soon, are Genubei, governed by divine ethics and inner heart morality. We want to face fears, shed shame, beat back guilt forever, achieve peace! Anyone would think-- and your President obviously does-- that we'd be the perfect mass test group."
The woman on stage next to him seemed accustomed to calmly listening. From my own experience, I know how hard that can be.
"If we actually achieved inner peace,” Christolb stopped pacing and looked at her. “Then what?”
He turned and yelled into the expanse of the empty Round, “We'd be bored!”
When the echo faded, Christolb bowed from the waist. "I look forward to what you share with us. Goddess-within blessings."
The government's expert watched the back of his green robe disappear into the dark Round.
When the seats started to fill, I took a spot in the back row. From on stage, she introduced herself as Glia Markham, a neuro-therapist working at the Defense Wing of the Governing Body. Glia said her work speaks for itself and she showed us video of two case studies.
In the first example, a military official sat with Glia in the middle of a room. She projected a document at eye level and said, “Sir, you have carried this for two decades. You have asked forgiveness and received it. This is the final stage in your healing. When ready, General, please read your personal prompt aloud.”
He shook his head before speaking to her. “I must ask you one more time. This will not take me somewhere I do not want to go?”
“Correct, Sir.” Glia's voice on the screen in front of us was calm and reassuring. “When you recall this final time, your synapses will activate and the inhibitor will be administered. The trauma pathways will be abandoned and reabsorbed by the brain painlessly.”
He nodded once and read in a soft voice. “It was another afternoon on guard duty at the dusty marketplace. Mattingham was cracking jokes, killing time. One young villager caught my attention and I watched her. She had lemons for sale, all piled up on a rusty, round tray, balanced on her head. I remember that no one was buying any. She kept veering away from the crowd to circle in my direction. When her eyes were focused on me… for a few, precious fractions of a second--”
We watched as he paused and blinked, then continued to read aloud. “For a few, precious fractions of a second, she became my little sister... Lalea. I suppose she didn't even look like her really, but I wanted it to be true. She got too close and that's when I... I did nothing.”
He took a breath, then continued speaking. “She was right next to me when the tray on her head started to tip… I remember seeing the white-green mold on the bottom of all the rolling lemons. In slow motion, some hit my boots and let off puffs of spores.
“And that rotting citrus smell… It was a massive vibration. Then, deafening silence. Mattingham was right with me when... she detonated. And, he was gone there-then. I didn't perform my duty to protect--”
He stopped and closed his eyes. Glia injected a blue liquid into the side of his neck.
In front of him, a hologram appeared-- the portrait of his beloved dog, with damp fur and an orange hunting vest, holding in its mouth a pheasant with brilliant plumage. The man opened his eyes and let out a sigh. A bot scanned his skull, blinking a green light after five seconds.
The video ended and, from the stage, Glia instructed us that it had taken several sessions to get to this successful point with the patient.
She shared that three days afterward he was able to sip lemonade, a previous no-go memory trigger.
Next, Glia showed us another video of her and a woman in the same room as the previous clip. We all watched as Glia asked her how things had been since their previous session.
The woman blurted, “I want to get rid of the pain right now! Time does not heal all wounds. It gets stronger every time. I'm being stalked by these horrid memories and I am here to say, no more!”
Glia nodded. “That is admirable determination. Last week, you completed your initial session. Your therapeutic prompt has been developed. But, it may be necessary to prune more than once to get to the root of the pain.”
“Can't you just speed it up? I can handle higher doses, I promise.”
“Any success is dependent on the therapeutic relationship. A minimal level of trust must be built. That takes some time.”
“Oh well. Too bad.” The woman shrugged and leaned towards the prompt Glia projected. She rapidly read out loud. “So, always it would happen at night when I--”
Glia directed her to speak slower in order to fully activate her memory circuits.
The woman sighed and began again at a slightly slower pace. “Anyways, it would happen at night when I was in my little bed, curled up under my flannel blanket-- the blue one with the satiny edges. He would wait until Mama started her shower in the bathroom down the hall. As long as he could hear the splashing water, he knew he wouldn't get caught.”
She read on with a clenched jaw. “It was my job to make him happy, in ways he needed. I was his pleasure pet. He was my father. And, I hate him.”
She closed her eyes and Glia injected the blue liquid into the side of her neck.
This person's soothe image was a cocktail with an olive in a fluted glass.
When she opened her eyes, she giggled. A bot scanned her skull, blinking a red light after five seconds.
After the video ended, Glia told us that it took several more sessions with this patient to begin to triage the memories. Apparently, only then could effective, targeted pruning take place.