| From: | Jeffrey Mach <mach@****.CALTECH.EDU> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Nothing in Particular: Pinnochio |
| Date: | Sun, 20 Apr 1997 20:04:20 -0700 |
>>>>>[Lo how the mighty have fallen. Seems I've got myself good and
grounded for the near, but indeterminate future. Damned if I know
exactly what got me here, since to tell the truth, I don't quite remember
much of it anymore. From what Jenny (Vernier)--you know that blond who is
currently watching me like a hawk right now, (yes I can handle a little
e-mail via a deck thankyouverymuch)--tells me, I kind of lost it. It
being my grasp on reality, sanity, whatever. Now in the past few days
I've seen enough shrinks to give me a two inch neck, but they have started
telling me I'm most of the way home and that I should start trying to deal
with it and get on with my life. Now this message isn't exactly a
homework assignment, but it isn't completely my idea either. They kinda
suggested, since they don't know an afterburner from an aileron, that I
spill my guts to someone who'd have some vague notion of what the hell I'm
talking about. So, here goes.
Seems like what started me over the deep end was that out at the air field
where we are testing the Valkyrie prototype, they basically had me in the
air with that bird non-stop, sometimes doing mid-air refueling for
validation, and to not waste the time of me touching down. The "they" was
mostly this one hardass that I've heard got more than his tail-feathers
singed from on high, because he nearly got his lead test pilot reassigned
to a rubber room. This prototype is the real one with all the bells and
whistles. We didn't have the adaptive coloration scheme for one in the
sim--wouldn't have been fun to have us hunting each other for an hour--and
I could tell you more, but then I'd have to...well ask you nicely not to
tell another soul. Anyway, when the poor bird had enough and needed
another cycle of maintenance, they picked me up and tossed me in the
simulator, to synch the "feel" as good as possible, test out some less
than recommended maneuvers, and otherwise keep me and MAX jumping.
God, I miss MAX. Jenny says no harm done to her from me spazzing out, but
she's not letting us get in our usual tete a tete until my tete is fully
screwed on properly. You'd think the girl was jealous. Screw that, she
_is_ jealous.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. The big problem with me doing the sleep,
Valkyrie, eat, Valkyrie, breathe, Valkyrie routine was that I didn't see
it as a problem. I don't know if you have an experience like mine, but
whenever I toss aside my body for the meatpuppet it is and slip on a
beautiful warbird like that, the feeling is...I don't know...sexual, or at
least that's the way I used to see it. Damn doc said I was "destructively
reacting to certain self-esteem issues." I told him to try tearing the
sky like it was made of paper some time, jack out and not feel like your
flesh is just a bad joke. Besides, when I got my new rig, they did some
serious sensory interface work. They call it "enhanced situational
awareness" (another one of those classified things) as well as jacking my
rigged reflexes as far as they could. I mean, after a while it was like
stepping out of the pod was like having wings ripped off my back, an eye
and an ear pulled out, and a hundred pounds of lead saddled on my back. I
was numb, very uncomfortably numb, like being drugged up. Just the thing
to do before going to bed, neh? Which I think is why, some point before
the end, I stopped doing that too.
Oh yeah, and tack on losing your best friend. MAX and I--last time I
heard--were hitting synchro rates of over 90%. It must be something close
to what Jenny feels with her encephalon...just when things are getting a
bit too complicated, MAX was there to share the load, take care of the
stuff I just couldn't bother with, or give me a hand with what I was doing
just when I needed it. She's part of the system, so literally with the
rig she's just a thought away and inside my head whenever I want her. Also
has enough of a psych subroutine to do the real job of a REO: convincing
you that you're okay when all hell is breaking loose. I guess in the haze
I was in, I started thinking of MAX as a lot more human than she was
capable of being. I don't know. She was partially designed using engrams
from me, so in some ways she's like a sister I never had, but then, she's
only a machine.
The other major factor the docs said was that I saw my body as being not
much good for anything other than keeping my brain alive out there. Not
like you, Ms. Secret Agent woman/pilot/leatherneck lover. I was spending
so much time with it being plugged into a rig, I just started ignoring it,
and jacked in even after hours just to get the rush and stop feeling like
a rag doll. After a while, I stopped thinking straight and I have vague
recollections of not being able to easily tell when the simulation was
over and reality started. It seemed like when I had the rig system pouring
data into me I was okay, but I kinda went dead as soon as I jacked out,
like a puppet with its strings cut. The fact that I forgot to eat or
sleep ended me in the hospital, unconscious with a nutrient I.V. running
into my arm. One of the biotechs laughed that I had done a masterful job
of getting myself ready for brainwashing, which I guess, after a fashion,
is what I ended up doing to myself. I guess I'm glad I did it to
me--rather than somebody else--but I can't stop feeling like a damn fool.
As a minor concilation, some of the biotech's told me I wasn't alone.
They say that it can happen to anybody who goes too long out of touch with
themselves: riggers, even deckers. Every year they hear of some poor kid
who jacks in and never bothers to jack out, and it isn't because of any
ice.
So, my wings are clipped at work, until the fellows in white coats think I
am no longer a danger to myself. They say I didn't fry anything
permanently, and that I should be about to go back on duty once I get this
all straightened out, maybe less than a week or so. Besides, it isn't
like even the secondary test pilot out there has even half my hours, and
he doesn't have MAX. Jenny's told me, for anywhere near optimal
synchronization, the neural nets need to work with only one operator. The
next three nets, the first production models aren't finished yet. So,
flat out, they want me back ASAP, and want Jenny back at the lab working
on the nets. The old man is seeing if he can move her and the nets out
there so they can get an early start synching with their pilots, and also
I figure so she can keep an eye on me.
Meanwhile, Jenny's got me having fun the way normal people are supposed
to, eating out, clubbing, even got me to a holotheather, etc. etc. etc.
"You're going to feel like a flesh and blood person and like it," or
something like that. Got me to swear that I would never scare her like
this again. I'd almost hate to say it, but I'm feeling pretty good right
now.
If I think I'm up to it (*whap* okay, if she thinks I'm up to it, *whap*
and the psych boys), I think we'll make that _loooonnnggg_ over-due visit
to that friend of yours, Sacha, some time late this week or early next. I
won't feel like a real woman again until I dab a little bit of JP-X behind
my ears. And I won't trust myself until I can jack into a rig, fly, and
jack out again without losing myself in there.]<<<<<
-- Arashi <18:54:05/04-20-58 PST>
