host usually had no memory of their escapades , sexual or not. Under the influence of hypnotic inducement drugs they would simply wake up the next morning and count the pay-off in their accounts.
Franklin finished the list of available courtroom hosts without seeing anyone who was of any interest to him, so he selected a host at random. The name second from last on the list was Reginald White. He was a tall dark skinned man with boney features and a thick shock of curly black hair. Franklin clicked on the Synaptic Interface access controls and prepared his mind to take control of this man’s body.
The first sensation was the taste of sour smoke. He opened his eyes slightly and found he was in a dim apartment. On a small table in front of him he recognized an empty vial of Somnambutol that Reginald had used when Franklin confirmed the remote access session.
Next to the empty vial a thick cigar lay smoldering on a glass tray. Reginald had been smoking something that was not tobacco; most likely a narcotic.
Franklin was disgusted with the taste and smell. He considered Synapping off, but he would then have to pay the minimum which was two hours; so he decided to make the best of it. He stubbed out the Cigar completely and made his way to the small adjoining kitchenette. He rinsed Reginald White’s eyes, nose , and mouth at the sink until the smell and taste began to return to normal.
“Good enough,” Franklin said out loud. He wanted to hear Reginald White’s voice; the voice was deep and raspy.
Franklin moved Reginald’s body through the door and made his way outside. The courthouse was only a block away, so there was no need to hail a skimmer taxi. It was mid-morning and the bright Los Angeles sunshine glinted off of the glass and chrome of passing skimmers. Franklin walked along in the shade as much as possible. His Synapse host was already reeking of sour smoke, adding a layer of perspiration would not be an improvement.
As he approached the courthouse, he saw a small queue at the metal detector inside the door. He recognized a man standing in line as one of the Synapse hosts from the list. Franklin moved Reginald’s body to the back of the line and waited his turn. As he waited, he searched through the pockets of Reginald White in case he was carrying anything metallic. Franklin found the pockets were empty and the guards waived him through.
Inside the building now, Franklin navigated his host to the archive. It was a large airy room built in the old style with tall windows along the western wall. Thick tapestry had been hung to block the natural light. Franklin maneuvered his host to the Librarian who was seated at a centrally located Kiosk.
“Person, case number , or subject?” the librarian asked.
“Uhmm … person,” Franklin answered. Reginald’s voice sounded like a growl.
“Name?” the librarian asked.
“Anand Ramasubramanian” Franklin said; and then spelled the last name.
The librarian worked on her vid-station interface for a moment, then said, “The S tate vs. Anand Ramasubramanian; case number 6025541. It’s a capital crime; first degree murder.”
“Yes , that’s the one , ” Franklin confirmed.
“Please take the vid-station number six.” The librarian concluded by waving him in the general direct ion of a row of vid-stations that followed the west wall under the tapestries.
Franklin navigated his host down the row of semi-private vid-stations. He felt like a content man at last. He was here doing research on… what did she call it? A capital crime, he would remember that; he would use that in the feature.
Glancing sideways into the vid-stations , as he passed , he could see other Synapse hosts blankly staring into their screens. Perhaps Lawyers were here, and maybe other content men doing research for features. Maybe they were here researching Al McKnight.
Franklin settled Reginald’s heavy body into
Franklin finished the list of available courtroom hosts without seeing anyone who was of any interest to him, so he selected a host at random. The name second from last on the list was Reginald White. He was a tall dark skinned man with boney features and a thick shock of curly black hair. Franklin clicked on the Synaptic Interface access controls and prepared his mind to take control of this man’s body.
The first sensation was the taste of sour smoke. He opened his eyes slightly and found he was in a dim apartment. On a small table in front of him he recognized an empty vial of Somnambutol that Reginald had used when Franklin confirmed the remote access session.
Next to the empty vial a thick cigar lay smoldering on a glass tray. Reginald had been smoking something that was not tobacco; most likely a narcotic.
Franklin was disgusted with the taste and smell. He considered Synapping off, but he would then have to pay the minimum which was two hours; so he decided to make the best of it. He stubbed out the Cigar completely and made his way to the small adjoining kitchenette. He rinsed Reginald White’s eyes, nose , and mouth at the sink until the smell and taste began to return to normal.
“Good enough,” Franklin said out loud. He wanted to hear Reginald White’s voice; the voice was deep and raspy.
Franklin moved Reginald’s body through the door and made his way outside. The courthouse was only a block away, so there was no need to hail a skimmer taxi. It was mid-morning and the bright Los Angeles sunshine glinted off of the glass and chrome of passing skimmers. Franklin walked along in the shade as much as possible. His Synapse host was already reeking of sour smoke, adding a layer of perspiration would not be an improvement.
As he approached the courthouse, he saw a small queue at the metal detector inside the door. He recognized a man standing in line as one of the Synapse hosts from the list. Franklin moved Reginald’s body to the back of the line and waited his turn. As he waited, he searched through the pockets of Reginald White in case he was carrying anything metallic. Franklin found the pockets were empty and the guards waived him through.
Inside the building now, Franklin navigated his host to the archive. It was a large airy room built in the old style with tall windows along the western wall. Thick tapestry had been hung to block the natural light. Franklin maneuvered his host to the Librarian who was seated at a centrally located Kiosk.
“Person, case number , or subject?” the librarian asked.
“Uhmm … person,” Franklin answered. Reginald’s voice sounded like a growl.
“Name?” the librarian asked.
“Anand Ramasubramanian” Franklin said; and then spelled the last name.
The librarian worked on her vid-station interface for a moment, then said, “The S tate vs. Anand Ramasubramanian; case number 6025541. It’s a capital crime; first degree murder.”
“Yes , that’s the one , ” Franklin confirmed.
“Please take the vid-station number six.” The librarian concluded by waving him in the general direct ion of a row of vid-stations that followed the west wall under the tapestries.
Franklin navigated his host down the row of semi-private vid-stations. He felt like a content man at last. He was here doing research on… what did she call it? A capital crime, he would remember that; he would use that in the feature.
Glancing sideways into the vid-stations , as he passed , he could see other Synapse hosts blankly staring into their screens. Perhaps Lawyers were here, and maybe other content men doing research for features. Maybe they were here researching Al McKnight.
Franklin settled Reginald’s heavy body into
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