Wild Thing Chapter 33 Two thousand five hundred kilometers to the east, the thing that had once been the stockbroker Marc Disten waited as his ’Link made the now-usual negotiation with the Robotel's admin facility and the boom gate opened. After the car parked itself in its assigned underground spot, Disten emerged, pausing just long enough to ensure the auto-locking completed correctly. It had begun to malfunction. As he waited, he noted the score marks on the vehicle's side panels. The car seemed to attract such damage. The frequency had dropped as the scratches accumulated. Presumably, then, the root cause was envy.Foolish.Heading to the elevator, the body's needs were assessed. There was little stiffness, thanks to the hourly isometric and stretching routines. But toilet facilities were required, as well as nourishment. The clothing could be laundered at the same time. Others reacted if this were not done every few weeks.During the lift ride, the ’Link's nutrition app was used to order a suitable meal, then its directions were followed to the assigned room. Inside, the clothes were stripped and the Marc Disten financial accounts queried. Exhaustion of capital was now not anticipated until 2172, well exceeding the predicted life expectancy. The investments continued to do well.A dombot arrived to collect the clothing, and by the time the self-cleansing had completed, another was waiting with the delivery of the food. While eating, the ’Link's mapping function was cast to the tiny room's meager smart frame, allowing study of the directions for the route. A twenty minute walk.It was curious that Dr Callahan Scott's announced paper had been withdrawn from publication. The research had clear parallels to the superior new mode of thought. Had the paper been suppressed?Later, striding through the extensive and well-maintained grounds of the University of Illinois, Disten noted the uneasy glances, despite the care taken to blend in. Meeting the gaze of two young women who had reacted particularly strongly, a decision was taken to alter course to intercept and question them.They immediately changed direction and hurried away.Disten briefly considered what non-verbal cues could have provoked the response, but failed to identify one. The issue was of minor importance, however.After a five minute walk, the Beckman Institute for Advanced Mental Science loomed ahead. Three forty six, p.m. Like the University itself, the building appeared well maintained, with pleasing regularity and patterns in its design. He proceeded to the reception area.But there, things became difficult.'I'm real sorry, sir, but Dr Scott has taken a leave of absence,' the middle-aged woman offered.'Callahan Scott was scheduled to publish a paper, “A New Cognitive Model for Human Thought.” Why was it withdrawn?'It was exceedingly difficult to read human body language, but the receptionist's reaction was sufficiently pronounced that he felt confident she had just become agitated.'Well, his wife died, three years ago, you know, and he didn't cope very well with that at all.''Incorrect. The death of Scott's wife was a key enabler for his new research direction. Where is Scott? A discussion would be of mutual benefit.''I'm sorry, sir, I can't give you that information.'Disten stared at her. A discussion with Scott should be very productive. There had been no success, so far, in communicating the new and perfect thinking mode to others.The woman took a step backward, looking to her right, to the flimsy door which would be of little impediment to his entry into the office area from which she worked. She then looked… frightened, her eyes darting around, as if looking for yet another door.'Dr Callahan Scott will be very pleased to see me. His work is correct. Together, a great advance will be possible. Give me his address.'The woman's skin paled, and she put out a hand to the wall, apparently in need of its support.'I can't. I can't! No one here knows! The police are looking for him, and no one can find him, and… please don't hurt me, that's all I know, honestly!'Disten considered this, as the woman's emotions took complete control of her and she collapsed backward into her seat.'You have copies of his research. This Institute would keep copies.'The woman shook her head, tried to speak, but her words were almost impossible to decipher. What cues had scared her? How did she know that he had planned to take the information from her? It was curiously perceptive.In the incoherent babble, however, she appeared to be saying that shortly before his disappearance, Scott had taken all his research and deleted all copies.Disten turned the handle of the door – the steel bolt snapping as his grip exceeded the mechanism's integrity – and stepped into the room.The woman stared at him: and fainted. Behind him, voices in animated discussion echoed through the large stone foyer, approaching.With a last look at the woman, Disten stepped back through the doorway, closed it behind him, and walked out.The two young students appeared not to even notice him. Disten turned, watching them disappear deeper into the building. They did not even glance into the reception area as they passed it.Outside, returning to the Robotel, Disten tried once more to scent, or to sense, the elusive call that pulled westward.Still nothing.Yet it waited. The other half to the puzzle. The part that would be able to communicate the new knowledge.Days later, Disten considered the problem afresh. Words alone still proved insufficient to share the perfected mode of thinking to others. Without training, it was difficult to design experiments in methods of communicating the new understanding. Scott's work on viral memes, belief systems, and indoctrination would have been most helpful.Each attempt so far had only reconfirmed the challenge. Strong measures were required to displace patterns learned over a lifetime. Disrupting those patterns sufficiently to allow replacement with the superior mode had so far proven unsuccessful.Marc Disten let the latest subject collapse, shaking, to the floor, while considering what to try next.The large man nodded once, briefly, then bent and picked the woman back up. Looking then into her desperate eyes, a new approach suggested itself: the new mode could be offered as a route for survival of the individual organism.The only route to survival.Afterward, considering the broken body, Disten remembered the first killing. Wakening into the wonderful new clarity had been startling, a magical experience never heard of, much less expected to have undergone personally. The memory of that awakening was still as powerful as ever.That clarity demanded to be shared. Why was it proving so difficult to teach how to end the confusion? Was there, perhaps, something of real magic involved?Disten considered that idea. The sense that the solution lay westward appeared to have no rational basis.But one certainty still stood out, above all others – that there was a way to communicate the new clarity to all humanity.Somewhere in the west.
