{"id":9221,"date":"2009-12-08T00:40:13","date_gmt":"2009-12-08T07:40:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.amptoons.com\/blog\/?p=9221"},"modified":"2009-12-08T00:40:13","modified_gmt":"2009-12-08T07:40:13","slug":"good-boy-by-nisi-shawl-part-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/?p=9221","title":{"rendered":"Good Boy, by Nisi Shawl (part 2)"},"content":{"rendered":"

This is part 2 of “Good Boy,” by Nisi Shawl. Click here to read part 1 of “Good Boy.”<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201c…one cannot know as a result of this kind of solitudinous experiment whether or not the phenomena are explicable only by non-biocomputer interventions or only by happenings within the computer itself, or both.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Light receded, poured out of her like water from a strainer, left her sitting in her own chair, dressed in her red robe. She knew how she\u2019d gotten there, knew Kressi had come home and roused her from the tank. Nothing was lost. What happened while Good Boy rode her remained in her memory, only faded, thinned of all immediacy. And her body felt so heavy now that she had to lift it on her own. But she made her hand rise, reached out to touch her daughter\u2019s cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry, Kressi. I\u2019m still here. This is right, what Good Boy\u2019s trying to do–\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIvorene? You\u2019re okay?\u201d Tears filled her daughter\u2019s eyes and voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d She wanted to sound surer. \u201cListen, I\u2019m going to let him come back again, I just didn\u2019t want–\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Him?\u2019 Ivorene, why won\u2019t you–Good Boy\u2019s not real! Admit it!\u201d Kressi stood and stormed away from the table so Ivorene had to turn to see her. Now the tears were of anger.<\/p>\n

\u201cDefine real,\u201d Ivorene said, then sagged in her seat. She was too tired to argue. \u201cNo, never mind. Don\u2019t. Whether Good Boy or Aunt Lona or any of them are \u2018real\u2019 doesn\u2019t matter in the end. Just act like they are and everything will work out fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut–\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor three days, that\u2019s all. That\u2019s how long I asked him to stay.\u201d Stubborn silence. At the edge of Ivorene\u2019s vision, whiteness flickered. With each pulse it grew, drawing in, a bright tunnel down which her daughter\u2019s once-more-worried face receded. Saying words she couldn\u2019t hear. Apologies? Ivorene overrode them with her own instructions: \u201cThree days. Promise me that.\u201d<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\u201c…each computer has a certain level of ability in metaprogramming others-not-self.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Posted on Citynet 01.18.2065, 08:18:14
\nFROM: goodboy@mckenna.home
\nTO: ALL USERS:
\nSubject: Be a Souldier in the Army of Uncle Jam!
\nBody:<\/p>\n

PARTY UP!
\nYou are hereby notified that in accordance with the wishes of the Supreme Funkmeister,
\nyou are required to bring your Waggity Asses on over to
\nMcKenna\u2019s Mothership
\nfor the
\nCELEBRATION!
\nof our Grand Ascension to the status of
\nChocolate City, Capitol of the Known Negro Universe, said
\nCELEBRATION!
\nto commence on the evening of 01.21.2065, promptly at
\n21:00 hours.
\nIT\u2019S THE BOMB!!
\n[link to mckennapage.home]<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Sent via Citynet 01.18.2065, 13:34:10
\nFROM: pearl@yancey.home
\nTO: ivorene@mckenna.home
\nCC: CAPTAINGROUP, samthompson@infirmary.city
\nSubject: Attached Posting
\nBody:
\nAllow me to bring the attached to your attention, Miz McKenna, as it may somehow have escaped your notice. It purports to issue from a \u201cgoodboy,\u201d currently unlisted as a Citizen. But the voice ID closely parallels your own, and reveal commands show your login.<\/p>\n

Miz McKenna, aside from the highly questionable language of this \u201cinvitation,\u201d the obvious irresponsibility of organizing a frivolous assembly now, at the height of an epidemic, leads me to conclude that the posting is a clever but childish hoax on the part of your normally quite level-headed daughter. Please take immediate steps to disavow it as such.<\/p>\n

Far be it from me to meddle in your personal affairs, Miz McKenna, but I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll agree that her understandable longing for popularity does not excuse Kressi\u2019s participation in a prank of this magnitude.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Sent via Citynet 01.18.2065, 18:42:33
\nFROM: maryann@gonder.home
\nTO: goodboy@mckenna.home
\nRe: Be a Souldier in the Army of Uncle Jam!
\nBody:
\nPassela told me to tell you this is such a swollen idea! Or I guess I should say it\u2019s The Bomb! Those fashions on your page were just wild, and I hope we can get our printers sufficiently togetha in time for the big partay!<\/p>\n

Now for the important news–I heard Fanfan ask his daddy if he could borrow his record player! And<\/em> some of his old jams! I bet he has lots of the songs your page listed, because I was over at their place one time, and in one closet they had this whole big rack of those black plastic circles! So it\u2019s only the guns you have to worry about getting.<\/p>\n

Are you sure your mother won\u2019t mind?<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Sent via Citynet 01.19.2065, 00:16:29
\nFROM: samthompson@infirmary.city
\nTO: pearl@yancey.home
\nCC: CAPTAINGROUP, ivorene@mckenna.home
\nRe: Attached Posting
\nBody:
\nAre you purposely TRYING to set off a City-wide panic? Of all the officious, unscientific nonsense I\u2019ve heard on this expedition, yours, Pearl, takes the pound cake! This is not, repeat NOT an epidemic.<\/p>\n

There is no, repeat NO single, underlying organism that I can discover at the root of this recent wave of disorders. On the other hand, whatever it is seems to be affecting just about everyone on Renaissance. To a greater or lesser extent.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve attached several tables I\u2019ve been working on in my copious free time….I don\u2019t know what they mean yet, but there\u2019s an unprecedented variation in the degree to which symptoms manifest, in the number of symptoms any case exhibits, and in the comparative seriousness of symptoms. Fear of insanity, salt cravings, heart palpitations, fevers, hernias, sore feet, sprained backs, tonsillitis–what have they got in common? Nothing. Except that they all cropped up as problems at about the same time. But not in the same household or among workers on the same shift at the same plant.<\/p>\n

So whatever this thing is, it\u2019s not contagious. There\u2019s no excuse for your killjoy attitude, Pearl. Let the kids have their party.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Sent via Citynet 01.19.2065, 12:12:12
\nFROM: ivorene@mckenna.home
\nTO: pearl@yancey.home
\nCC: CAPTAINGROUP, samthompson@infirmary.city
\nRE: Attached Posting
\nThe invitation is entirely legitimate. Those who find the language in which it\u2019s couched to be odd should refer to the available historical data on mid-Twentieth Century black musicians, specifically Sun Ra, Parliament, Funkadelic,<\/em> and Earth, Wind & Fire.<\/em> A notable space-travel mystique developed around their work, and it is to honor its creative impetus that I\u2019ve arranged for y\u2019all to party up! Everybody party up! Come fly with me! I am<\/em> the Mothership Connection. You have<\/em> overcome, for I am here!<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\u201cAt times the cross-model synesthetic projection may help…excitation coming in the objective hearing mechanisms can be converted to excite visual projection. The commonest excitation used here is music….\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

A good long ride on this one. She a strong horse, Ivorene. I even let her get some sleep, talk to her tickety-tap machine a little, calm her daughter down with some kinda explanations. No danger of losing my seat. She don\u2019t buck, don\u2019t rear. Three days.<\/p>\n

All the partay people comin now. I made many preparations. Poor nervous daughter Kressi done helped, shown me how ta cook the candy and color over them too bright lights. But the pole, I erect that sucker all myself.<\/p>\n

We sit in chairs by the door. \u201cRaise up the blind,\u201d I say. She a good, obedient girl. And wearin the blue I said, most pleasin to the ocean. Her mother and I both told her time and again, till I do my business I ain\u2019t goin nowhere.<\/p>\n

Fillin up the ramp, the peoples who been waitin come in. They laugh, but not too loud yet. One brought me some a my music. Kressi gets up to make it play. I watch while more people arrive. Everybody stop an stare when they see my big ole pole. It stuck up in the middle a everthing, hard to miss.<\/p>\n

The expression on that there lady\u2019s face make me wonder how she ever gonna reach escape velocity. Don\u2019t she know this a partay?<\/p>\n

Apparently not. \u201cI couldn\u2019t believe you\u2019d actually allow this to take place,\u201d she tells me.<\/p>\n

I smile. \u201cI allow all sort a things.\u201d I offer her Kressi\u2019s seat.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, no, I can\u2019t really stay . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut how else you gonna know all the people wind up comin?\u201d<\/p>\n

She give me a narrow-eyed look. \u201cIvorene? What\u2019s gotten into you? Are you–you\u2019re not–you haven\u2019t been–\u201d<\/p>\n

She think my horse drunk. \u201cSiddown and fine out,\u201d I say, and now she accept my invitation. I get her to take some candy, too. Lemondrop. Ain\u2019t no need to shock her system with too much sweetness.<\/p>\n

All this time, guests keep arrivin. All dressed up, nice, bright colors, shiny fabrics, boots, big belts–Not quite right, not exactly how they did it, back in the day, but–they lookin pretty good! I keep handin out the candy, hopin everyone get to enjoy themself.<\/p>\n

Grooves start jumpin. I can\u2019t contain myself, never no good at that. \u2018Fore she know it, Miz Mealymouth holdin my candy bowl and I am out on the dance floor actin like anybody\u2019s fool. \u201cPut a glide in your stride and a dip in your hip!\u201d I sing over the music. Why they all just watchin me?<\/p>\n

Next song. Kressi come up behind me, stand still a minute. I turn so she see me smile. Take her hand, spin her round, dosi-do an play the clown. She lose some a her worry, gain some grace. Soon she swishin her robe like waves and dancin like light on the water. Very Yemaya, very Mother of Fishes. Good. That\u2019s who we got to bring down here tonight.<\/p>\n

Boy over there wanna dance with her. I get out the way. In a minute a whole bunch of \u2018em cuttin loose. Flyin elbows, flashin feet. Funk start to rise.<\/p>\n

Someone important at the door. I go see why they not comin in.<\/p>\n

\u2018Cause the one told me she really can\u2019t stay tryin to keep him out, that\u2019s why! Big shinin man in a paper dress standin there while she tell him get on back in bed. She call him Edde. \u201cYes, Miz Yancey,\u201d he say, and nod. Too polite to push her out the doorway.<\/p>\n

Not me. But I do it without touchin. All a sudden, she sittin down. I help her back up. Edde head for the pole.<\/p>\n

\u201cCall Doctor Thompson!\u201d this Yancey tell me. Tell<\/em> me. Tell me<\/em>!<\/p>\n

She won\u2019t leave, now I wish she would. I could make her, but I rather dance. Rather she did, too. Like everybody else but her. Funk steady risin, but this woman drag us down. And we close, so goddam close<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Gotta get over the hump. Gotta get over the hump.<\/p>\n

Where my bopgun?<\/p>\n

I look all around. Someone shoulda brought it to me before now. Ain\u2019t I already asked? Sure, when my horse first pray to me. Nobody better make me ask a second time.<\/p>\n

Edde hoppin all around, jumpin so he see over people\u2019s shoulders, headed for my pole. He there. He grab it.<\/p>\n

Swing down, sweet chariot, stop, and let me ride.<\/p>\n

Two now. I on two horses. Much easier. Look at me across the room. Look at me back. These are the Good Times.<\/p>\n

Homin in on Miz Yancey. All she wanna do is stan there. I bring me some dancers. Soft music, an they swirl like liquid, spillin over the floor. Swoosh, shoosh, they spin Miz Yancey round, rock her shoulders, sway her hips, draw her deep into that psychoalphadiscobetabioaquadoloop. Carry her like a cup a foam on they tide. Over to my pole. Twirl her round, turn her loose and let her grab on to stand steady. She ready. I watch the funk gettin up for the downstroke. Watch it fall upon that horse\u2019s head.<\/p>\n

She come! Mother of Fishes, she come! Twistin, slidin, slippin, ridin\u2014here among us! Yemaya has come!<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\u201c…control is based upon exploration of n-dimensional spaces and finding key spaces for transformations, first in decisive small local regions, which can result in large-scale transformations.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Kressi opened her eyes on chaos. How long had she been dancing? It had felt so good to forget, to let the music take her far away. But where was she?<\/p>\n

Surging dancers squeezed her against a wall. Perpendicular. Smooth, unjointed. She was in a corridor, outside the yurt. But Good Boy\u2019s music still surrounded her. Someone had patched the yurt\u2019s sound system into the City\u2019s speakers.<\/p>\n

Miz Sloan capered by in Ali\u2019s arms, transparent slippers kicking high. Then the flood of dancers ebbed, trailing a pair she recognized with a shock as Passela and Fanfan. They were–he was–from behind Passela had shoved her hands inside the front of his pants, way inside. As she watched, Fanfan squatted down slightly, allowing Passela to leap astride his hips. Without dropping a beat, they vanished into the crowd. Kressi caught her breath, then started slowly after them, thinking hard.<\/p>\n

Either they had all gone crazy at the same time, or it was a very good thing she\u2019d spit out that piece of candy her mother gave her.<\/p>\n

No. Not her mother. Whatever it was Ivorene had called up to help them. A supraself metaprogram, to use her term. Three days ago, Kressi had agreed to go along with anything it wanted. To believe that her mother had known what she was doing, and that this–entity–would somehow perform the task it had been set and leave. It had been hard to stick by her decision. It wasn\u2019t getting any easier.<\/p>\n

The corridor emptied. Kressi spotted her favorite fossil embedded in a nearby stretch of likelime. She was outside the infirmary.<\/p>\n

She went into the empty lobby. Over the music\u2019s steady throb, she heard Dr. Thompson\u2019s angry protests. She had to see what was happening in the cubicles, in the ward. Even if there was nothing she could do to stop it.<\/p>\n

There was nothing she could do, or even see. Nothing but the brightly colored backs of her fellow Citizens, pulsing rhythmically, flaring and floating and–She closed her eyes. Tight. But shining patterns formed, even more dangerous to her focus.<\/p>\n

She opened her eyes again and pounded on the back before her. The drug would wear off soon. John C. Lilly used LSD, but Ivorene had opted for a tailored version of Narby\u2019s Amazonian formula in her early experiments. Presumably this was what Good Boy had printed out and put into the candy. The dancers\u2019 ecstasy would last no more than half a shift, and the effects on Kressi would be slighter, and of a much shorter duration.<\/p>\n

Long seconds passed till the man blocking her way moved. He backed up suddenly, kicking her in the shins. Others did the same, and the tight knot of dancers dissolved into a loose semi-circle around the door of Cubicle One. Kressi peered between shifting shoulders and saw Captain Yancey emerge. Her unblinking eyes seemed to protrude slightly from her head. She raised dusty, chalk-white hands and held them clasped in front of her, then began to move them slowly together, as if working up a lather.<\/p>\n

Without warning, Captain Yancey whirled and stalked off to her left. Kressi scrambled to follow her. A high, burbling voice wailed through the speakers: \u201cI can\u2019t swim! I never could swim! Let go mah laig!\u201d<\/p>\n

Six\u2019s occupant looked oddly serene, though his room was filled with partying strangers. Two men sat on opposite sides of his bed, propping him erect. Sweat glittered on his forehead as he swayed lightly to the music. Kressi glanced automatically at the headboard: Charles Tobin–temp 40\/heart rate 120–<\/p>\n

Captain Yancey leaned forward and placed both hands on Mr. Tobin\u2019s head. The patient slithered down onto his bed as if to avoid her. She stooped to maintain contact and began to shudder slowly, so deeply she shook the patient and his cot. Mr. Tobin\u2019s body straightened, then arched like a leafspring, vibrating faster and faster. Horrified, Kressi tried to call up the courage to step forward and touch him, somehow stop what was happening. But it ended on its own before she could manage that. Captain Yancey stood back and left him flat on the cot. His hair and face were white with whatever she\u2019d rubbed on her hands. He seemed to be asleep. The headboard thought so, too.<\/p>\n

The room emptied. Kressi hesitated, then hurried out.<\/p>\n

She barely made it into Seven. Dancers screened the cot. A new voice sang to what sounded like the same song, assuring everyone that they could swim in the water and not get wet.<\/p>\n

A child\u2019s frightened crying cut through the music. It came from the cot. Kressi struggled to reach it. By the time she got there, the child lay quiet and calm.<\/p>\n

It was Junior Watt. Kressi recognized the normally feisty ten-year old despite his mask of white. His eyelids fluttered briefly as she called his name, then he sighed and smiled. As she watched, the headboard\u2019s readouts flickered, changing to those of a healthy sleeping boy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing<\/em>?\u201d she asked Captain Yancey.<\/p>\n

In response, the older woman grabbed Kressi by her braids and pulled her closer. Shutting her eyes reflexively, Kressi felt a hand scrub her face with a slightly gritty powder. The press of dancers suddenly stilled to hold her motionless. She twisted stubbornly in place, getting nowhere. The hand\u2019s scrubbing motions softened, becoming oddly gentle, reminding her of–of–<\/p>\n

Of how her mother washed her face one morning, grooming her for an online interview, just weeks before the ascent to their ship. She\u2019d fought Ivorene, flung away the washcloth, but her mother had picked it up and persisted in her work. Captain Yancey\u2019s touch felt as tender, and as determined.<\/p>\n

No. Not Captain Yancey\u2019s. This supraself metaprogram\u2019s touch.<\/p>\n

It was cleaning its children.<\/p>\n

Kressi relaxed. And sensed a lightness, a lifting. As if old, nameless, chains had fallen from her, training weights she\u2019d put on long ago and since forgotten.<\/p>\n

She opened her eyes slowly. The room was empty. Then Dr. Thompson walked through the cubicle\u2019s doorway holding a gun. \u201cKressi?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m okay. It\u2019s just–\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that stuff on your face?\u201d<\/p>\n

Good question. \u201cI dunno.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s on the others, too. I\u2019ll get a sample container.\u201d He turned to leave.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait–you\u2019re not going to shoot Captain Yancey, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Where\u2019d you get–\u201d He looked at the gun he was tucking absentmindedly under his robe\u2019s sash. \u201cOh. This. It\u2019s only a water pistol.\u201d He pulled it free again and looked down at it as if it belonged to another person, someone immature and hopelessly embarrassing. \u201cI had it in my office for some reason, and when they all came in at once it seemed….<\/p>\n

\u201cHere. Take it.\u201d Dr. Thompson handed her the gun. It felt heavy and wet. \u201cI\u2019m not going to try to stop them. This laying on of hands, or whatever you want to call it, it\u2019s working.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kressi had come to the same conclusion, but it startled her to hear him say so.<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew from the beginning an unconventional course of therapy was called for, but–\u201d He shrugged his shoulders and waved an arm vaguely in the air. \u201cNext time you talk to Ivorene, ask her to give me a call so we can discuss what she\u2019s done.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was at this point that Kressi realized that her mother had been missing from among the dancers. That she\u2019d been absent ever since Kressi roused herself from her trance. Ever since the party\u2019s migration to the infirmary. So Ivorene must still be back at home.<\/p>\n

No, not Ivorene. Or maybe, yes. If the wave of symptoms had been conquered, the Good Boy metaprogram might have finally given up his hold. It would be Ivorene waiting for Kressi at the yurt, worn out from her long ordeal, not even sure of her own success.<\/p>\n

With that in mind, Kressi called home. No answer. Maybe all it meant was that her mother felt too tired to open the feed. But when A Shift\u2019s crew showed up minutes later, unaffected by candy, she was happy to leave Captain Yancey and her entourage to them. By then the music\u2019s volume had dropped, and a lot of partiers had drifted off; perhaps half their number remained. Dr. Thompson followed them through the ward, smiling and recording notes, nodding at Kressi as she took her leave.<\/p>\n

The blind was still raised at the bottom of the yurt\u2019s ramp. She plodded to the top without shutting it, expecting to find drugged or sleeping stragglers, but the place was empty. Everyone had gone. Everyone except one slim figure robed in black and red, sitting at the base of the pole Good Boy had erected. Her mother?<\/p>\n

No. The figure popped to its feet like a button and lifted its chin to peer at her through half-lidded eyes, and Kressi knew there was one more guest to get rid of.<\/p>\n

But how?<\/p>\n

\u201cWell?\u201d asked Good Boy. \u201cI kep all a my promises now. How bout yours?\u201d<\/p>\n

Promises? \u201cI said I\u2019d help you for three days. I did. You said you\u2019d cure the mystery disease. Okay, that\u2019s pretty much taken care of. Which means it\u2019s time for you to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Good Boy tilted his head consideringly. \u201cThere was the partay, yes. Music, dancing. Sweetness we shared. But these wasn\u2019t all a my requirements.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI require<\/em> my mother back! Good Boy, you gave your word–\u201d Kressi lowered her head and took a deep breath, trying to imagine life if Ivorene never recovered possession of her body. Her mother would be locked up, drugged helpless. Kressi would get handed off to someone to be fostered till she reached sixteen, probably Captain Yancey or worse, and of course nobody\u2019d ever be able to make Ivorene any better because there was nothing really wrong with her–<\/p>\n

\u201cCome now.\u201d Good Boy\u2019s tone had turned suddenly cajoling. He stepped quickly toward her, almost running. \u201cI am aware you got it. Hand it over. All gonna be well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHand what <\/em>over?\u201d Unnerved by his proximity, she put her hands in her pockets to prove that they were empty and felt something hard and slick.<\/p>\n

Dr. Thompson\u2019s water pistol. She pulled it out. \u201cThis?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ivorene\u2019s teeth gleamed against her wide-stretched lips in a glad smile. \u201cAt last!\u201d Good Boy received the gun reverently, cradling it in upturned palms as he examined it. The smile faded. \u201cThis a toy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood Boy, it\u2019s all we have<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n

He aimed it at her. \u201cIt loaded?\u201d And shot her full in the face.<\/p>\n

Kressi choked, coughed, swallowing salty water and wiping it from her eyes. She heard him laughing, heard him stop, heard the clatter of something hitting the yurt\u2019s floor. Felt shaking arms wrap around her damp head and haul it closer, pressing it up against cloth-covered flesh. She fought free, but when she could see again there was something different–<\/p>\n

\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many times do I have to tell you not to call me outta my name like that! Just because I happen<\/em> to be your–\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIvorene!\u201d She nestled back into her mother\u2019s arms once more. For however long she could.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\u201cNew areas of conscious awareness can be developed, beyond the current conscious comprehension of the self. With courage, fortitude, and perseverance the previously experienced boundaries can be crossed into new territories of subjective awareness and experience.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Stars shone through the yurt\u2019s many windows. Everything else was dark till Kressi held her lighter to the three candles in front of her. Three long flames leapt up, wavering golden fingers that quickly steadied and grew still. Two people sat at the table, two biocomputers containing at least that many control metaprograms. One of them happened to have given birth to the other.<\/p>\n

Dr. Thompson, Captain Yancey, and a dozen others waited to watch the night\u2019s proceedings through the live feed. A sheet from the printer contained a list of their questions.<\/p>\n

Ivorene reached around the candles to grasp her daughter by her wrist. \u201cWho do you think we should get for them to talk to?\u201d she asked. Her palm slid against her daughter\u2019s in an almost unconscious clasp.<\/p>\n

You, Kressi wanted to say, but no, this was research. Talking to Ivorene wasn\u2019t an option right now. Wasn\u2019t always going to be one. Not with her<\/em> mother. \u201cYou decide this time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sensitive instruments recorded and broadcast Ivorene\u2019s reply: \u201cGood Boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kressi sat up in her chair, planted her feet more firmly on the floor, and released her mother\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\u201c…the bodies of the network housing the minds, the ground on which they rest, the planet\u2019s surface, impose definite limits. These limits are to be found experientially and experimentally, agreed upon by special minds, and communicated to the network. The results are called consensus science.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

(All quotes are from John C. Lilly\u2019s Programming and Metaprogramming in the Human Biocomputer: Theory and Experiments<\/em>, second edition, 1974, Bantam Books, NY, NY.)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is part 2 of “Good Boy,” by Nisi Shawl. Click here to read part 1 of “Good Boy.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":39,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9221","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9221","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/39"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9221"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9221\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9221"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9221"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amptoons.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9221"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}