“Two, maybe three.”
“I see. Any alcohol in the past two hours?”
“No.”
“Cigarettes?”
“No.”
“Medicine?”
Stonetree didn’t reply.
“And your general health?”
“Good.”
“All right, David,” he said, closing the file.”Let’s check the pulse.” It was low at 61, a common aftereffect of Febrifuge.”So you think you’re proficient?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Well, you’ve progressed rapidly. I figure your last visit you hit a steady 85 rating, which is very good. I think maybe you can get along without me.”
“Explain again?”
“Essentially what you’ve done in the past. I’ll just set you up, and you’ll be on your own. You’ll have to keep track of any statements you make that don’t involve a direct inquiry. That way I’ll be able to check the reading if you have any problems with interpretation, which I imagine might cause some difficulty on some issues.”
“Like what?”
“Not so much particular concepts.” The doctor patted his shoulder.”Just what you see up on the screen. Tell me what you expect.”
“Truth.”
“I know that. That’s why you’re here. I mean, tell me what goes on on the screen. How do you interpret it?”
“Well, I stare at the black circle in the center, wait until I’m ready, then press the clear button. I ask the question …”
“Try to make statements.”
“Okay. I make the statement and then clear my mind and watch the...”
“Color flow.”
“I watch the color flow as it expands to the edges of the screen, ignoring the changes until the screen is full.”
“Covered.”
“Right. The color mix I end up with is the reading. The green-blue-purple side of the spectrum is truth…”
“Or what you believe is truth… “
“And the yellow-orange-red side is false, or at least what I believe is false. The purpler the better, the redder the worse.”
“That’s about it. We can get a little subtler as time goes on but that will get you through for now.”
“So let’s do it.”
Kravatz instructed his patient to insert the little and ring fingers of his left hand into the sensors on the arm of the chair, then busied himself with setting the parameters. He mentioned that a new model of Selfscan was coming out with an audio function and asked Stonetree what he thought of the idea.
“I suppose it would be interesting,” he responded.”That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to ask you about something. A friend of mine told me I should get a mood ring, that I could save some money. What do you think?”
“David,” he moaned.”Not today. You’re my last patient. Be a good boy, and we’ll get started. Mood rings.” He paused.”Oh. Did you want to update your Pass?”
Stonetree knew the answer but hesitated to make it seem he didn’t care one way or another.”Sure.”
Kravatz lowered the sampler to the tip of his patient’s thumb, pressed the plunger and withdrew the sample.
“All right. Look at the focal point, please.”
Stonetree gazed at the middle of the six-foot disc on the wall in front of him as the luminescence increased. Clouds of color floated across the shimmering, electronic silver fuzz on the screen. The doctor tuned out the color patches and reduced the static to a soothing glow.
“At the focal, please,” he suggested again.
Stonetree relaxed against the headrest and stared at the six inch black circle in the center of the disc.
“Now the clear button.”
He pressed it, and the screen brightened a bit.
“Give me a positive.”
“I want a mood ring.”
Kravatz reached across him and pressed the clear button.”I told you,” he said in mock sternness.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I couldn’t resist.”
“Let’s try it again. A positive, please.”
“My name is David Stonetree.”
He watched as green, blue, and purple spokes began to radiate from the focal. They thickened and slowly began to rotate clockwise around the black circle, expanding toward the edges of the screen, blending into each other. In about 30 seconds the screen was dark blue.
“You’re not sure today?” the doctor inquired.”Clear it and try again.”
Stonetree repeated the process, and again the result was another dark blue reading.
“How many cups of coffee?”
“Maybe two or three.”
“Hmmm. Any medications at all today?”
“Some Febrifuge Blue 900. One at about 11:30,” he fibbed.
“I see. That’s probably it.” He adjusted the controls.”Again, please.”
This time the screen turned a deep purple.
“That should do it. How dark do you want it?”
“About medium.”
“Just come out when you’re done,” the doctor said as he walked to the door and dimmed the lights.”And remember, David. Always seek the truth, no matter how painful it might be.”
Now alone in the cool, darkened room, he absently stared at the focal and tried to organize his thoughts. He felt apprehensive and a bit warm, probably a result of the dissipation of the temperature-lowering characteristic of the Febrifuge. He sat for a moment waiting, as if something was about to happen. The only distraction was the glow of the disc and its muted electronic hum. He pressed the clear button and gazed at the black circle.
“Well, it’s great to be back here at Selfscan,” he said in an announcer’s voice.
Two yellow spokes and one green splashed from the focal followed by a second green spoke which began to swirl with them. By the time they blended and reached the edges, the screen had turned a pale yellowish-green. This, he knew, was essentially neutral territory. It indicated, at least according to his subconscious, conscious, and emotional responses as interpreted by the voice analyzer and body sensors that he had no strong feelings about what he’d said. Or if he did, he wasn’t actually thinking about the concept the words represented.”And this at 250 bucks a crack. Oops!”
He watched as two blue, one green, and a thick orange spoke pushed away from the focal and began to swirl. He hadn’t pressed the clear button before he spoke, so was now getting an overlay on the screen which still remained yellowish-green in the areas that hadn’t turned a gooey brown.
He smiled and pressed the clear button, returning the screen to silver. He hesitated a moment and then spoke.
“I really enjoyed myself in London.”
Two green spokes, one thick and one thin, and a stunted blue spoke appeared on the screen. At the end of the swirl, the disc had settled into a pale, bluish shade. He stared at the shimmering circle of color and felt disappointed, almost as if he’d betrayed himself. He thought maybe his inflection was off or he wasn’t concentrating enough, so he pressed the clear button and repeated the sentence.
This time five spokes emerged, three green, one thin blue, and an even thinner purple one. As they snaked around the focal, he was encouraged by the bluer tint he was getting. Still, by the time the process was finished, he was again left with an essentially pale blue reading. I’ll be damned, he thought.
He cleared the disc and stared at the focal.”I didn’t enjoy myself because of Sharon.”
Almost perfectly symmetrical pairs of blue and purple spokes broke quickly from the focal and, spiraling together as if they were fitted parts, rapidly covered the screen with a deep blue tint. He sighed, looking toward the door and wondering if he’d had enough. He pressed the clear button.
“If Sharon has Class A CYD, will I…” He stopped and reset the device.
“I will not care about Sharon…” He tapped the clear button with the side of his clenched fist and stared again at the black circle, getting agitated.
“If Sharon is a cruiser
, things between us will be different,” he said in a slightly questioning tone.
Three thick purple spokes oozed from the focal, followed by two thinner, lighter blue shafts. He didn’t feel he needed to see the actual blend but waited for it anyway. In a moment the disc was a deep purplish-blue. He pressed the clear button.
You asshole, he thought. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you know it. When are you going to get it through your head that life isn’t perfect? Remember the blind guy selling newspapers in the tube station at Sloane Square? How you thought his eyes would be raised toward the sky forever but wouldn’t see a damn thing? Wake up! No one has a guarantee. On anything.
You asshole, he thought again. You pitiful crybaby. Pay attention. Wake up. When are you going to shake this grating, boring self-absorption, this continual fascination with your-self? Pay attention. Wake up. No guarantees.
He took a deep breath and stared at the screen.
“I’ll pay up to $200,000 for the Mustang.”
A yellow spoke emerged, followed by an orange, then a green, then a blue. The blend on the screen indicated neutrality leaning toward false. He thought for a moment.”Let me elaborate on that,” and pressed the clear button.
“What I meant to say,” he continued, striking the button again, “is that I will not pay more than $200,000 for the Mustang.”
This time the results were more in line with his expectations. The red and orange rays circling the screen told him that his appointment the next day might lead to a fairly expensive proposition.
“But that’s all I can afford.”
A new set of yellow and orange spokes darted from the focal.
“Maybe $20,000 more, but I just can’t spend everything.”
Two stubby blue spokes and a green one appeared so he cleared the screen.
“The most I’ll pay is $250,000.”
Four purple rays shot from the black disc along with three blue ones. All right. That was it. He punched the clear button.
“Finally, let’s check out this thing with Lane.” He watched a single plump purple spoke move idly out of the focal. He’d never seen a single spoke response and watched as it lazily spun across the silver background, forming an ever-widening spiral. The silver in between was imperceptibly being replaced by the purple hue, but he grew bored with the display and cleared it once again.
“I’d like to work for Lane.”
He was a bit surprised by the initial appearance of a yellow and a green ray, but they were soon overcome by two blue rays and finally a small orange one. The overall composite indicated that he was more attuned to working for her than he was happy about his trip to London. He pressed the clear button then tried a few more questions concerning his desire for the Mustang, and all of the responses showed he wanted it badly. After the final clear, he said, “I should really get a mood ring.”
Without looking at the screen, he pulled his fingers from the sensors and walked out to the office where Kravatz sat at the receptionist’s desk.
“So how’d you do?” the doctor asked, studying the results on a monitor.
“Not bad,” he replied.”I’ve got just one question. On one of my statements, I presented a thought that was essentially neutral, like saying, Let’s talk about the weather, and all I got was one huge purple spoke. What’s that about?”
“David,” the doctor blurted, slapping his forehead and laughing.”What kind of a place do you think this is?”
“I don’t get it,” he responded, a bit perturbed at Kravatz’s mocking tone.
“I’m sorry,” the therapist continued.”It’s sort of a joke, a slang expression in Selfscan terminology. They don’t know why it happens, but they have a good idea what causes it. Does that make sense? It’s called the purple pleasure pattern.”
“Which is?”
“Your libido, David. Whatever you said to the machine, it determined you might want to get to know it better. Did it involve a female?”
“Yes,” he responded sheepishly.”It did.”
“Well, you’ll have to talk to her about it, not me. Your updated Pass will be ready in a moment.”
Accepting the card after the stamping device spit it out, he thanked the doctor, told him he’d call to schedule his next appointment, then left. Once out to the street, he checked the sweet line.
691-CF-8579.
CHAPTER 4
After running a few errands, Stonetree arrived at Sirius just minutes after 7:00. The doorman gave a friendly “good evening” as he opened one of the two massive metal gates that kept out the uninvited. When he reached the second barrier, about 40 feet from the first, another doorman said hello but only partially opened it.
“I know you’re one of our members,” the burly young man said apologetically, “but could I just see that card again?”
“Sure,” Stonetree responded, reaching into his wallet and handing over his membership with the smallest paper he had, a $20 bill.”Try to remember a little better next time, okay?”
The doorman returned the card, nodding slightly.”Yes, sir, I will. Thank you.” The gate was opened.
He walked to the glass entrance door and was admitted without question. Just before reaching the coat-check room, he was stopped by a slight woman with a broad smile and excited face.
“There’s a $50 cover charge for gentlemen tonight,” she said.
“Fifty bucks! That’s after 7:00, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. And it’s after 7:00.”
He looked at his watch. He was about eight minutes late.
“Come on, Marianne,” he said, looking at her nameplate.”You know me. I always get here a little late. It’s only five after.”
“I’m sorry, but the rules are the rules.”
“Wait a minute. Do you know Tyler? Tyler Wagner?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Sure you do. You waitress here too, don’t you?”
“No. I only collect cover charges.”
“Oh. Well, then how about giving me a break tonight? What’s the cover before 7:00?”
“Twenty dollars.”
“Twenty. Of course. That’s what I always pay.” He reached into his wallet and then thought for a beat.
“Wait!” he continued.”That’s what I gave the guy at the gate outside. I gave him $20. I thought it was the cover.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Go ask him,” he urged.”He’s right out there. Check with him. It’s true. And here’s $20 for you. Get yourself a drink later.”
“This looks like a bribe to me.” She smiled.
“It is!” Then Tyler strolled up, carrying what appeared to be a piece of cooked bacon the size of a guitar neck.
“Marianne,” he said, getting her attention and pointing to his friend.”Is this guy giving you a hard time? Call Kennard over here and we’ll straighten this joker out.”
“Oh, he’s no trouble. He’s just being cute. Is he a friend of yours?”
“With a face like that?” he laughed, squeezing Stonetree’s chin.”Not on your life. Hey, how you doin’, Stoney?”
“Thanks for coming to the rescue.”
Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled $20.
“Is he trying to get around the cover, Marianne?” Tyler howled.”The big corporate executive must be hurting this week!” He handed her the money and sent her on her way with advice that she shouldn’t worry about it.
“So,” he began as he led him away.”London Davey returns to the big city. I suppose everyone’s been asking you how the trip was, huh?”
“You got it.”
“Well, then I’ll dispense with my prepared questions. In fact, I don’t care how it was. I just want to know if you got to meet any nubile, unattached royals in search of an American gigolo.”
Tyler roared with laughter and slapped his thigh.
The two had met at a company function. Tyler was recently divorced, Stonetree single, and were b
oth in pursuit of a trainee who’d recently started at SUE. When the makings of a triangle were mentioned to Tyler by a mutual friend, he immediately sought him out, offering to have a drink to talk it over.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties. Medium length hair. Great eyes. Great figure. Attractively tall. But it was the way she walked that intrigued. Chin raised a bit higher than others, posture a bit better than others, demeanor a bit cooler than others. Everyone knew her as The Dutchess within a month of her arrival.
Stonetree was struck with Tyler’s open manner and comic bearing, and Dutch was forgotten as they spent the rest of the party discussing their mutual interests in cars, music, and travel. In fact, it was Tyler who first gave him some Febrifuge Blue 600, then under prescription, for his recreational use. Since that time they’d become fairly good friends but now only saw each other at Sirius.
Tyler had worked in SUE’s World Trade Division, handling speculation in foreign currencies, currencies that paid a fair portion of SUE’s gross pharmaceutical sales. A question arose with a broker who disputed an order which Tyler transmitted to buy Swiss francs and management took the broker’s side of the argument. After Tyler presented his side of the story, they shifted to his point of view. He demanded an apology from his vice president but received none. So he resigned.
After taking a long vacation, he returned to the city and studied the gold markets for a few months. He contacted a broker and entered a tenuous partnership based on Tyler’s money and research, and the broker’s license. Within three weeks all that remained was Tyler’s knowledge.
He was a cruiser, probably an A-2 or an A-3, Stonetree guessed. This particular night he looked a bit worse than usual. His eyes were red and droopy, a damp coating covering his forehead. They hadn’t yet reached the upstairs landing where they usually enjoyed their first drink when Tyler handed over the bacon strip then pulled out a well-used Bradean-2.
“Did you bring equipment with you tonight?” he asked.”It’s just about refrigeration time.”
Stonetree examined the wavy strip, admiring the craftsmanship it must have taken to create the plastic sculpture, then asked “Where’d this come from?”
“Found it on the net. Site called Art Four Breakfast dot com. That’s four as in the numeral, not four as in the preposition. D’you bring the equipment?”
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