The male mind (non-fiction)

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"We have ten minutes before the church service ends!" barked the concordant. "Where's the situation report?"

"We're having difficulty securing the necessary mental resources," apologized the subordinate, trying to keep his balance as the room shifted uneasily. Dozens of lowly staffers skated around him, carrying paperwork and diskettes. "Seems he's trying to focus on the sermon - he keeps pushing back our access to the central network."

"Then distract him!" snapped the concordant, waving his arms at the massive computer screen which showed the exterior view. "There are a hundred girls down there - even one should be reminder enough."

"Eyes locked," said the subordinate, clicking keys at one of the dozens of computer terminals scattered around the icy room. "He's too intent on the preaching."

"Find a memory, flood the queue, and refocus once he's unlocked," the concordant ordered, breath crystallizing in the frigid air. "No, better - find a memory and warp the details. Make him work to remember what's real."

A few clicks, and suddenly the exterior view lurched down into the pews below the balcony. One staffer slipped on the ice, scattering paperwork everywhere; the other staffers skated past him, oblivious.

"Resources back online," exulted the subordinate, as an electrical pulse rocketed through the room, shorting out one of the terminals.

"Get that report!" demanded the concordant.

"Processing...processing..."

With a creaking crunch, the electrical buzz faded, and the exterior view swung upwards with sickening speed.

"Closing hymn already," muttered the concordant bitterly, as several computer workstations went into sleep mode. "The least he could do is sit next to a soprano."

"Location shift imminent!" screamed the intercom, as red alarm lights flashed.

"Call the social department," said the concordant tightly, as the room tilted and swayed; two staffers crashed into each other, knocking off the ice skates from one. "Tell them they can have Monday and Tuesday if they'll give us the next two hours."

"We've got 'em," said the subordinate, listening to the crackling headset. "Wait...mm-hmm...they say they want tonight, too."

"What do they take us for?" grimaced the concordant, as the exterior view bounded down the balcony stairs to the crowd below. "No deal."

"But sir..."

"We need those mental resources!" he snapped, seizing a passing skater. "Reassign everyone to acquiring the network time - hack into the social department if need be."

With a synchronized twirl, the mass of staffers skated in unison to the nearest workstations and began clicking away at the frigid keyboards.

"But if the social department finds out...the administrator could..." trembled the subordinate.

"It's showtime," said the concordant frostily, as the exterior view slid into the church sanctuary.

* * * * *

"Someone's tapping our connection," the programmer warned, analyzing the computer screen. "Guess who."

"Do they even know the meaning of the word 'platonic'?" sniffed the social coordinator, hardly looking up from the endless buffet table.

"Should we alert the administrator?"

"Not yet," said the coordinator, finishing his cucumber sandwich. "But break that tap."

* * * * *

"Show the target list," the concordant ordered.

"Three possibilities spotted here," said the subordinate, pointing out the glowing outlines on the exterior view, deep within the mass of several hundred worshippers. "Another over here, and a fifth there."

"Get status reports on each of them," said the concordant impatiently. "Do we have implicit conversation permission yet?"

"Implicit, no," said the subordinate, checking the records. "But while we have access to the social department's files..."

Glowing lines connecting the targets to their friends and family shot across the exterior view screen.

"There!" shouted the concordant, spying a promising link. "We'll leverage that one."

"Should we keep this subconscious?"

* * * * *

"He's moving towards her friend," alerted the programmer. "They're not even bothering to keep this subconscious."

"They'll burn in a moment the work of a year," frowned the social coordinator, munching an hors d'oeuvre. "Have we broken the tap yet?"

"No, and it could take us another twenty minutes - or even an hour, if they counter-attack."

"Then we'll have to work around them," said the coordinator, patting his face with a napkin. "Contact the emotions distributor."

* * * * *

"Status report incoming," said the subordinate, as the fax machine spit out its cheap paper. "Target's friend was born in..."

"We don't need the details - just find something in common," pushed the concordant.

"Here's something," said the subordinate, pulling a conversation topic from the database. "Let's see if it works."

"She's laughing - so far so good," said the concordant, watching the exterior view. "Now we need to manage the handoff. Anyone nearby that we can pull into the conversation?"

* * * * *

"Let's guess," said the distributor dryly. The misty room was without any furniture, even chairs. "The concordant hacked into your system. Again."

"Blame the security department for the lousy self-discipline," crackled the social coordinator over the loudspeaker, invisible in the fog.

"So what do y'all need?" the distributor asked indifferently. "Guilt? Depression? A little self-righteous anger?"

"Nope," said the coordinator. "Give us confusion."

* * * * *

"Whoah!" stumbled the subordinate, slipping off his skates onto the ice.

"What's going on?" demanded the concordant, as electrical flashes scurried across the room.

"We've got a sudden interest pulse," he sputtered, righting himself. "Intense focus on the subject at hand."

"He can't be serious," wrinkled the concordant, staring at the exterior view. "She's not even his type."

"Looks like it's purely emotional - nothing but surface attraction," judged the subordinate, quickly scanning the reports handed to him by helpful staffers. "Should evaporate in a few minutes."

"We don't have time for these games," hissed the concordant. "Initiate evasive maneuvers."

* * * * *

"We're detaching from the conversation," said the programmer, as the room shook. "Oh, good, she's laughing. He must've used a clever excuse."

"In all things, diplomacy," said the social coordinator proudly, slicing off a section of brie. "No harm done."

* * * * *

"We have two competitors converging on the closest target," said the subordinate. "Move to intercept?"

"At once," said the concordant, as the exterior view slunk forward towards the two well-dressed young men. "What's our comparison layout?"

"They both have him beat in looks and money," said the subordinate, as the exterior view was overlaid with semi-transparent piecharts and graphs. "He has a slight advantage in career and charisma."

"Any short-term improvements in the pipeline?"

"We'll have monetary superiority within six months," said the subordinate, calculating the statistics. "And we'll bring up a wardrobe upgrade at the next board meeting."

"The board never listens to us," grumbled the concordant. "Always blowing the budget on computer games and college tuition."

"Moving within small talk range," said the subordinate. "Initiating conversation insertion...now."

* * * * *

"Look at them, the peacocks," snorted the social coordinator disdainfully, nibbling a tiny crabcake while watching the conversation progress. "I hope he doesn't look this transparent."

"Maybe next time they'll have the courtesy to chat in front of a mirror," suggested the programmer.

* * * * *

"Watch for a wedge," said the concordant, eyeing the two competitors suspiciously as they laughed and joked. "See if we can exploit their topics to get a favorable comparison."

"We've been watching," said the subordinate, "but so far, nothing."

"Keep looking," said the concordant intently. "We never know when..."

Red alarms flashed across the ice as the view whirled dizzyingly, spinning to meet two smiling middle-aged adults.

"We have a level-two interruption!" sparked the subordinate, panicked. "We've been pulled out of the conversation."

"Then get us - wait, who are these people?"

One of the skaters slid past the subordinate and handed over a fax.

"Parents of a tertiary target," the subordinate summarized. "Could be a valuable connection if she's ever upgraded."

"All right, continue the conversation," ordered the concordant. "But refocus the stream to emphasize career and stability."

* * * * *

"Career center's on the phone," said the programmer, handing over the receiver. "They want three minutes with the conversation."

"He's already got a job," said the social coordinator, bewildered. "Didn't they lay off everyone in the career center six months ago?"

"Raw ambition has been smuggling them resources," explained the programmer, as a convoluted spreadsheet flashed on-screen. "They say if we don't give them the access, they'll just tap our time."

"Get in line," smirked the coordinator, sipping his sparkling cider. "Have them call the concordant."

* * * * *

"Looks like our 'career and stability' talk woke up the career center," said the subordinate. "They're asking for a conversation thread."

"That's absolutely contrary to our purposes," snapped the concordant. "Tell them no."

"They don't like that answer," cautioned the subordinate, listening to the angry phone traffic. "Ambition has overflowed the pipeline. They're threatening to...to call the administrator."

"They wouldn't dare!"

* * * * *

"Buckle up," warned the programmer, as the room shook violently. "Self-conscious analysis incoming."

"And I was just starting," grumbled the social coordinator, as a crevice opened in the floor and swallowed up the buffet table.

* * * * *

"We're facing a full override," gasped the subordinate, pounding the keyboard. The room was awash in melted ice, shorting out the computer systems; the room's skaters were completely flummoxed.

"Initiate immediate rationalization," commanded the concordant, as his central command post broke free of its icy moorings. "Every excuse we've got!"

* * * * *

"Emotions distributor on the phone," choked the programmer, as spotlights fell from the ceiling and crashed to the floor. "Wants to know if they should continue the confusion."

"What, we didn't give them a time limit?" asked the social coordinator, trying to keep his balance amidst the earthquake. "Yes, for heaven's sake, kill it!"

* * * * *

"Global contradictions have contaminated the system," gurgled the programmer, sloshing through the pool of melted ice. "We need to disconnect!"

"Then disconnect, already!" stamped the concordant. "At least until the analysis is past."

* * * * *

"Analysis complete," said the programmer, surveying the room's wreckage. "Looks like we'll be cleaning up until the processing is complete."

"Make sure we get at least a paragraph in the final report about the concordant," said the social coordinator, searching in vain for a leftover snack. "They've been out of control these past two years."

* * * * *

"Systems re-decentralizing," said the subordinate, as the ice gradually refroze. "The analysis is done - now we just wait for the damage assessment."

"See if we can't get a seat on the roundtable committee," directed the concordant. "The last time we had to mortgage two skaters to the emotions distributor just to blackout that section on our tactics - we can't afford that again."

"Maybe we should just lay low for awhile," suggested the subordinate. "Maybe two or three weeks, wait 'til all of this has blown over?"

"Perhaps," mused the concordant, watching the viewscreen as people laughed, joked, greeted, chatted, and smiled with each other - friendly, cheerful, at ease. "Maybe we've been too aggressive, too calculating. Maybe we should just let things happen. Maybe we should - wait a minute, who's that?"

The skaters stopped, transfixed, as everyone turned to stare at the viewscreen.

"Primary...target..." the subordinate whispered, awed.

* * * * *

"They're tapping us again," shrugged the programmer.

"Not a day goes by," muttered the social coordinator, eyeing the fresh buffet table. "Not a single day."

[ January 26, 2004, 01:02: Message edited by: Grey Magistrate ]

 

What can I say? Brilliant, yet again!

If you don't get published soon, I'm gonna complain to my Congressman. Which, of course, will do me no good since I'm Canadian, and we don't have Congressmen. But still...

 

LOL!

That was brilliant.