The Wall Story

The Wall 2

Patrick Greer entered the office and went to his desk where he sat and massaged the plasti-foam muscles of his neck. The movement of his fingers had no effect; the designers hadn’t managed to incorporate muscular stiffness as a habitual result of stress in quite the same way as developed in a real body.

“Damn that wall,” he said to no-one in particular.

“What wall, Butch?” Asked the man opposite him, referring to Patrick’s pre-death notoriety as the ‘butcher of Baltor 4’. Dan Freeman was the supervisor of the sector beside Patrick’s. He’d opted for a young avatar and a face that Patrick often thought looked like a demonic cherub, rather than the fresh effect probably hoped for.

The man’s barbed comments pierced Patrick’s mood and for a moment he pictured ways he could kill this idiot. Recognising such a train of thoughts he pulled himself free of them. The psychologists had indicated active cognitive reflexes had to be practised. Catch the thoughts early and prune them before they became emotions and he wouldn’t revert to psychosis again.

“One of the largest families in this sector, some six hundred all told, they’re building a wall,” he said.

Dan looked up from the screen he was tapping information into.

“Didn’t diddly well know that was illegal.”

“It’s not. Trouble is, it’s not right either.”

Dan stopped typing and leaned back in his chair a mocking expression on his face. “Heck! Not right! Wow what should we do about that?”

Patrick ignored the tone of the words. “They say it’s a wall for their herd of cattle. The trouble is this wall is miles long and growing by the day. Wide too. Wide enough for a truck to drive down. Far wider than any cows would need. Especially when you could order ones with borders pre-programmed.”

Dan’s mocking expression faded and his forehead furrowed. “Herds? I’ve never heard of anyone buying herds of cows. They’re meant for aesthetic purposes. Two or three will do the job.”

Patrick nodded in agreement. “The wall’s made from marble too, bright white marble. Can you imagine the expense?”

Dan whistled. “Just about. What’s their cover story for all this?”

“That they’re making a wonder. You know, like the biggie pyramids or Wall of China. Something which will become a legend.”

Dan’s face clouded over and he crossed his arms and paused in thought. “They could be telling the truth. This life isn’t perfect is it? It doesn’t feel quite the same as the real thing. Some people never get used to living this way and it affects how they think. I’ve seen lots of people with problems, especially the religious ones. They just can’t cope with the prospect of a technological after-life. They start to do strange things.”

Patrick had met such people. Dan was right, it was usually the religious ones. Either they became more religious, fundamentally so; or, they cast faith aside and lived with dangerous abandon. Yes, Patrick had seen both sorts.

“You think the Aldmans are building this wall to give meaning to their lives then?”

“Possibly.”

Patrick pulled a blank report sheet from a tray. He’d need to write up the meeting with Albert Aldman for the Hartmanns and Dan’s comments gave him the angle he’d need.

“I’d rather have the Aldmans build a bloody great wall than drift into other activities,” continued Dan. “I mean, the Independence Movement is a magnet to those who can’t adapt. At least this wall will keep one family occupied safely.”

Patrick completed the statutory details on the report and glanced up as a squirt of synth-adrenaline shot into his body in response to an alarming thought. “As long as the wall is separate from the Independence Movement. There’s this divining tapper tool they use too, it gives me the creeps.”

“What?”

“An occult device. Aldman says he uses it to plot the route the wall will take. That’s why it hasn’t got a straight line. Meanders all over the place. Never seen the like.”

“It all makes sense, Patrick. It’s like I said. It’s a search for meaning in their life here. It’s reached the stage where they feel they can connect to other powers to give them advice.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Patrick, although in truth, it didn’t feel right to him. He thought there was more to this ivory stick and bowl than met the eye. There was something about the Aldman family. They had airs and graces; but, lacked the real funds to transport to a private settlement. Instead they made life uncomfortable for the less fortunate around them. But, what would people say of him if he voiced such thoughts? That he was indulging in conspiracy theories to massage the emptiness that all here felt at times?

end of part 2