"Start a new religion," words echo in my hysterical brain. Why would I ever want to start a new religion? I do extractions, I go into cults, international corporations, and even corrupt governments to protect the leaders who themselves have been corrupted and are now prisoners of their own making. I'm supposed to set up an actual church just to protect my rights as a social software designer? What the f*#%@? It's been great receiving the help processing and storing all of these really advanced Spiritual Technologies. I've proven Spirit Tech is durable, elastic and fully inflatable. Now I'm having to start up a new religion, which by it's very nature will be corrupted. And this just so as that my work will eventually be absorbed and understood by everyone. And I'm also doomed to succeed, again. (Oy!) "Homi, how could you do this to me?" "Is this really necessary?" I don't have to hear Homi's voice to know how they think, it's obvious.
Without my notice, Gunter and Ben put me in a wheelchair, pushed down the hall to the office with the commercial glass door. I can see that with the lights on, in Vera's office it isn't outdoors at all. It is just a blank vault with well lit naked white walls and only a rectangular desk block in the middle. On the other side of Vera's desk is the railing I had thought I was going to fall over into that deep chasm that the projectors replicated out of my night time dream diary profile. And although I don't think I was drugged last night, I might as well have been for how sick I got and all the weird stuff I saw. Ben and Gunter go to work moving the desk and replacing it with that dreaded easy chair that was the implement of my torture when Vera left me alone in this office of terror. Holography had been mostly just a math problem to me, I usually avoided the "Holo Theaters, seizures and everything.
And of course they effortlessly float me from chair to chair. I still find it so strange to know that young professionals today are so much stronger then when I was their age. I am way too comfortable. My own little "Stockholm Syndrome."
"Turns out Vera had your P. P. I. already cued up," says Benjamin. Out of the back of my recliner came familiar wires to monitor my brain, heart and sensory thresholds. I'm not even awake and yet I want to go back in already. "We'll be monitoring you closely." "Personally, I think we're pushing it." I'm in permanent deja vu right now. Did I actually write all of this down? What now?
"Vera has cued up your memory files from Apr. 23rd, 2013, weird." Gunter almost seems surprised, "It's labeled, THE DIAMOND LATTICE." "Was that when you think your little friend escaped?" I say I don't remember, but I was working on unified field theories for human perceptual ordination in statistically null space." Things had gotten weird back then. Gunter prepares me for re entry saying, "We should be able to observe and record every projection you see and hear, and we may get a chance to watch Homi give you the answers." We are abruptly blasted with a flash of light noise. "Sorry," Gunter adjusts something in the back of my chair, "I always forget that your perceptual gain is off the charts." "Ready?"
"Ready." Ben is working at "Vera's desk block behind my right shoulder. "Let's do this thing." Beautiful unfamiliar music, colored light and ambient motion turns my math into layers of statistical projections mapped on to pealing space. My lattice comes to life.
"So glad you could make it," says Homi. "What took you?" "I was about ready to give up, and I see you brought your friends." "We have a lot to cover, ready?" The three of us say, ready, in unison. "Phillip, you might want to know your projection is being uploaded out to an open feed that includes Oraca,...., Interspace and wow, it seems almost every one who logged in for last night's rollout and gosh, dude you are really popular right now." I never really cared, not ever. Homi's little statement is largely for the benefit of all the readers who have been following our latest developments in Spirit Tech. I'm so used to Homi's silent presence that I process without having to verbalize. "It's cool, I just don't want anyone to think that we don't care about you."
