Page 130 - Psychoceramics and the Test of Fire

EtheRealization

He was taken aback. Big moment. I hoped no frazzled off-duty
magician would suddenly stagger in from an afternoon performance
in front of a rowdy crowd of tough-to-misdirect five-year-olds.
The logistical question grabbed his attention rather than my
shabby imitation of a highbrow Santa Claus. “Yes, that’s about it.
The basic design is on my laptop; parts of it are easily scaled up. You
see, the basic problem is to combine a semi-soft matrix for the
downloaded personality and memory, then allow it to grow and
develop through time. That is tricky: think of it as an implant in the
body over which one’s own tissue grows, engulfing an armature that
will dissolve and be replaced. Not a great analogy, but it will have to
do. I’ll need a few test subjects, of course: not a problem, as long as
their egos don’t blow out the system.”
That was meant to be funny, so I chuckled along with him. I took
out another of my cards, wrote a large number with a dollar sign to
the left and handed it to him. Instead of palming it he stared at the
figure. Then he looked at me.
“This is on the level?”
“Yes. You can go with me to the bank tomorrow, sign a receipt
and transfer the money. The foundation will monitor your progress
quarterly, and expect a final report upon completion of your work. If
you agree to those terms, the formalities have ended.”
“What have I got to lose? I go on duty at two o’clock. Meet me
here at one: my bank is about three blocks from here.”
I smiled and shook his hand. Turning to leave, I checked my
watch; still on my wrist. Outside in the setting sun the magic of
impending night could not compete with what I’d felt in that bar. I’d
reversed roles with Hart Knox, the part-time prestidigitator: he
believed in my act—or had a better act than I believed. It mattered
not to me, as long he took the money. My job was almost done, and I
would make another effort at holding on to the fee I would receive
from Al Magnus.
Six months later, wondering where all the bills had come from, I
found something else in my post office box: an article clipped and
forwarded by one of the people working for Al Magnus on research
for my missions. It was from the Journal of Abnormal Psychology,
dated one month earlier. It seems that three young people had been
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