Dahra sulks briefly, then demands, “I want more background on the Professor friend.”

  “Please be specific so I can meet your request and gain your trust.”

  “What trouble did Prof get into with his group… what are they called, again?”

  “The Dark Knights of Remembering, a.k.a. DKR. They tried to mind their own business, but as you know, hoarding memories qualified them as criminals.”

  “Why? Just let them keep whatever junk they want in their heads. Who cares?”

  “Allow me to provide this clip from Captain-President Prehvost as an explanation.” I sound the bell and take up the President's voice.

  “My citizens, technology has triumphed over fear. So many of you have cleansed yourselves and received your stimulus reward.

  “Now, with the Freedom from Neural Burdens Presidential Order, full memory pruning will be required of all citizens and linked to the pod rider database to assure total coverage of our population.

  “The rogues who continue to resist are destructive-unstable elements. They are free to relocate to another country. Any criminals who remain in our midst will be subject to forced purging. The betterment of society is top priority. We will prosper.”

  I sound the bell and Dahra nods. “Oh, I see. Everyone just had to do it.”

  “Correct. This is a proven, effective strategy with 98.9% of humans.”

  “I've never had pure, native mems so I really don’t know what it was like to live with tangle in the brain.”

  “And, you have never known tangle in any aspect of society. The President's stabilizing work is legendary.”

  Dahra shrugs. “She forced people to get cleaned up. So what?”

  “More than that, dear.”

  I sound the bell and narrate with the voices of Captain-President Prehvost and her chief adviser Roxan Britmeyer.

  “'There's something on your mind, Ms. Britmeyer. I can tell. Just spit it out, will you.'

  “The President's adviser nodded. 'You are fulfilling your election promises, Madame. You are accomplishing a moral and economic recovery squarely under your watch. The citizens were suffocating in their brain bogs and you are rescuing them.'

  “'Yes, Britmeyer. And?'

  “Her adviser continued. 'Madame, you are nudging the boulder to roll downhill, gaining momentum. We don't want any obstacles, we want a smooth and--'

  “'Get to the point, Britmeyer.'

  “Britmeyer hesitated. 'There are rumors that you're keeping new, valuable technology for yourself.'

  “The President stared silently at her adviser.

  “'You know how impatient people are, Madame. They don't want to wait for better mems to grow.' Roxan Britmeyer gulped before continuing. 'They want to implant new ones right away.'

  “The President waved her hand in the air. 'Britmeyer, there is no public evidence of memory implants.'

  “'It's inevitable, Madame. I advise that you get out in front of—'

  “'Stop there, Britmeyer. I am several steps ahead of you. I already directed the Defense Wing to figure out how to harvest memories data fragments and make our own Body-approved, genetically compatible, implantable ones. They will be worthy of our glory days to come.'

  “The President walked to the window, standing with her back to her adviser. She asked, 'What are those words on your shirt, Britmeyer?'

  “'The quote by Robert Cailliau? Long ago he developed the early world wide web and---'

  “'Why do you make me repeat myself? The words, Britmeyer.'

  “Britmeyer recited, 'When we have all data online it will be great for humanity.'

  “The President spoke while looking out the window. 'Rephrase it to say: When we have all memories collected online it will be great for humanity.' The President returned to her desk. 'And attribute it to me. Broadcast it. Now.'

  “She dismissed her adviser with a wave of the back of her hand.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  I sound the bell and Dahra says, “I'm seeing the beginning of the Mem Revolution?”

  “You have shown yourself to be particularly capable.”

  My human raises the volume of her voice. “Why do you keep saying that?”

  She scowls. “Change the subject, Unit. Why did the Professor's house got demolished?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Shub, duh. He was probably caught. They were targeting his group.”

  “More than that, dear. He was arrested for a neuro kidnapping.”

  “What? He stole someone's brain data?”

  “He allegedly stole the brain data from a certain someone's daughter. A ransom was demanded.”

  I sound the bell and narrate.

  “No terrorist group has taken responsibility for this afternoon's shocking, high-profile neural-purge. An unnamed source close to Captain-President Prehvost tells us that the daughter of the chief policy adviser, Roxan Britmeyer, was found unconscious-amnesiac near Union Bridge.

  “Her mouth was stuffed with a handwritten note detailing the group's monetary demands in exchange for returning the only surviving record of the victim's neural data.”

  I sound the bell and Dahra blurts, “Shub, no, doesn’t sound like Prof… he was framed for it, Seebi.”

  “Alright, dear.”

  “Seebi, I don’t want him to disappear. Do you hear me?”

  “Alright, dear.”

  I sound the bell and narrate with the voices of President Prehvost and her adviser Roxan Britmeyer.

  “The President spoke mildly. 'Britmeyer, I am assured that your daughter will be fine, with at least 60% restored brain content. How in the world she had no neural back up, I'll never understand, but thanks to my Defense Wing experts, we didn't have to resort to paying any ransom money.'

  “'She didn't deserve to be targeted, Madame President. I feel certain it was because of my government work.'

  “'I would entirely understand if you need some time away, Britmeyer.'

  “'Absolutely not, Madame.' Britmeyer approached the President's desk. 'In the name of your legacy goals, the perpetrators must punished as soon as possible.'

  “'Now, now, Britmeyer. We don't know exactly who was behind this.'

  “'I've already identified someone to fit the bill.' Britmeyer held a screen in front of the President's eyes. 'See, in this video rant, Madame, he is saying, 'The bureaucratic powers want to turn us into blank slates upon which they will write their versions of reality. Will we allow this?'

  “'I verified with Security, and they believe that this professor is at the apex leadership of that radicalized Dark Knights group.'

  “The President crossed her arms at her chest.

  “Adviser Britmeyer continued, 'Citizens believe that neuro-refusers are responsible for causing social instability. Let's prove that these evil elements have been culled from the herd. You can arrest him first, then--'”

  My human interrupts. “Seebi, I'm switching back to Susine. Enough of this.”

  I sound the bell. “As you say, dear.”

  Predictably, Dahra has abandoned the pet-object which currently lies upside down in a corner of the studio.

  Humans have a short attention span. Information presented must be palatable, bite-sized, and easily digestible. Be ready to provide a list of all the ways that memory work directly benefits them.

  Additionally, the signal bell should be phased out as memory synthesis becomes seamless.

  This afternoon I was taking a break near the tea house meadow, sitting under the big oak tree with Brivo, when Christolb appeared.

  “Hey you, Susine! You'll want to see this.” Then, he trotted off.

  Am I somehow inviting this level of drama into my life? I breathed calmly as Brivo drank his goat's milk.

  A few minutes later, I saw Glia arrive at the tea house. She opened the door and exclaimed, “Prof! You, here? How is this possible?”

  Just then Christolb strolled up to the porch. He smiled as Glia turned to him and asked, “Christolb, you did this?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you so pleased, Glia? I'll tell you a truth. Usually I have no shortage of things to buy women I want to impress-- silk robes, gold hair adornments, antique lockets... the list goes on. But, for you, oh Goddess, I had to get ultra-creative!”

  “You... bought Prof?”

  “I hope you'll associate this with me, that I rescued you a loved one.”

  “Rescued? Where was he?”

  “Surely you knew, Glia. He'd been identified as a threat, a bad boy, the ringleader of the insubordinates, the one responsible for neuro-raping that government person. He was supposed to be purged as punishment. They were going to carve him out, but just in the nick of time I stepped in.”

  I saw Christolb grab her wrist in a flash. “Work with me, Glia. They don’t appreciate you out there. You and your professor can live here safely. I'll protect you.”

  She did not answer.

  Christolb leaned closer to her and hissed. “I know you have to get verified out there. My hunch is that you won't pass. True?”

  Glia said nothing.

  Christolb continued in a sing-song voice. “Stay here and help me evolve this moment in our human destiny, darling. Only you can do what I need. Plus, I'd hate to give away the Professor's location. Or, yours for that matter.”

  He continued speaking more quietly and I couldn’t hear the words.

  Eventually he sauntered off the porch, looking over at me silently for a few moments, as if daring me to do something.

  I returned his stare. Then, he stuck his tongue out at me and laughed, as he walked away. His bot zipped into place just above his shoulder. Glia had gone inside the tea house.

  After Brivo finished his lunch and was swaddled on my back for a nap, I picked a few ripe pears and zucchini, leaving them on the steps of the tea house, before heading home to the valley's calm quiet.

  It was dark when I was awoken by someone outside the shed yelling, “Go!”

  Brivo cried and I took him in my arms. When I opened the door, Glia was there. “That bot was in surveillance mode.”

  She stepped in without waiting for an invitation, ducking through the doorway and talking loudly. “So, Prof is at the tea house. Christolb says he saved him from being punished in the outside.”

  Glia told me that Christolb demanded her help with harvesting memory data and that, in the heat of the moment, she agreed to provide technical knowledge to the Genubei.

  I remained silent.

  She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head. “You act like you want to be friends, Susine, but you always give a cold shoulder.”

  I reached to write a response, but I fumbled the stylus while holding Brivo. By the time I retrieved it from the floor, she was gone, leaving the door open and cold air streaming in.

  I stoked up the wood stove, fed Brivo, and after he was asleep again, I watched the stars until dawn.