Read Online The 2084 Precept by Anthony D. Thompson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anthony D. Thompson
Tags: philosophical mystery
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asked.
He finished off the last of his Coke, smiled
that gracious moon-smile of his, and said, "Before I answer that, I
will need to demonstrate something. At this point in time, you
still don't believe a word of what I'm saying, that's evident, it's
natural and I don't blame you, any other attitude would be
irrational. You are not quite sure about the fraud angle, I would
guess, but you've determined with absolute certainty that I am a
lunatic, a raving one probably, out of my mind in a big way. But as
I said at the start of our meeting, I hope to be able to convince
you otherwise and my attempt at this will only take a few moments.
Would it be O.K. with you if we went down to the street for a
minute?"
"Sure it's O.K.," I said, "no problem."
Quite right it's no problem. On the
contrary, I am not coming back up again, superb way out, terminate
this afternoon's waste of time, well…weird bit of fun.
He led the way down, then around the corner,
and there he stopped. There were plenty of pedestrians and a few
people occupying outdoor tables at a café just down the street.
It's not cold, but it's not so warm either, I wouldn't be sitting
outside at this time of the day, but Brits are Brits. I checked my
watch, around 4 p.m.
"Think of me, if you don't mind," said
Jeremy, "as a computer hacker, and ask me to hack into one of these
people's minds and make him or her do something, something
innocuous, something that will cause nobody any harm. Go
ahead."
"Anything?"
"Yes, anything innocuous, anything at
all."
Well, well, well, well, is this going
to be intriguing, I don’t think.
"Well now, let me see…let's take that waiter
who has just appeared. Do you think you could you make him drop his
tray with everything on it?"
It happened within two seconds. The waiter
dropped his tray, and two bottles, two glasses, and a cup of coffee
smashed across the pavement. A confused and apologetic waiter,
briefly startled customers, and an incredulous, disbelieving
me.
I looked at Jeremy and he just held up his
hands and shrugged. "One more go?" he asked, raising his eyebrows
at me, completely relaxed, nothing unusual going on here as far as
he was concerned. My mind on the other hand was racing with
all kinds of ridiculous thoughts, as you may imagine, electrical
impulses flashing back and forth and around and around, and finally
arriving at the only conclusion their logic would allow, namely
that what had just happened could be—no, had to be—an extraordinary
coincidence of the mind-boggling kind. And having told me this, my
brain took the next logical step and told me to check this out,
test him again, and to make it something difficult this time, don't
mess around.
And it took me no time at all to figure out
how, because a girl, a young woman who had been sitting at one of
the tables, stood up and started to walk in our direction.
"It would definitely be amusing, Mr.
Parker," I said, "if that young woman coming towards us were to
stop and ask me if she could meet up with me this evening. Don't
misunderstand me, nothing untoward involved, just meet. How about
that?"
He smiled at this, nodded briefly. And the
girl looked great. Not beautiful, but attractive, very pretty face
surrounded by shoulder length dark brown hair, dressed in a stylish
short white coat and, boy, what legs, the kind of legs we men
always say we would die for—which we wouldn't, of course, we would
look for another pair—but certainly the kind of legs which start
you thinking about what you would do like to do with them, and, as
far as one could tell, the rest of her figure was great as well.
Ah, and what do we mean by that? We mean a flat stomach, a nice
ass, not too big, not too small, and of course great breasts, also
not too big and not too small, and preferably nicely round-shaped
and firm. Most women don't appreciate this kind of thinking at all.
They don't wish to be viewed as sex objects—except, needless to
say, those who have no chance of ever
He finished off the last of his Coke, smiled
that gracious moon-smile of his, and said, "Before I answer that, I
will need to demonstrate something. At this point in time, you
still don't believe a word of what I'm saying, that's evident, it's
natural and I don't blame you, any other attitude would be
irrational. You are not quite sure about the fraud angle, I would
guess, but you've determined with absolute certainty that I am a
lunatic, a raving one probably, out of my mind in a big way. But as
I said at the start of our meeting, I hope to be able to convince
you otherwise and my attempt at this will only take a few moments.
Would it be O.K. with you if we went down to the street for a
minute?"
"Sure it's O.K.," I said, "no problem."
Quite right it's no problem. On the
contrary, I am not coming back up again, superb way out, terminate
this afternoon's waste of time, well…weird bit of fun.
He led the way down, then around the corner,
and there he stopped. There were plenty of pedestrians and a few
people occupying outdoor tables at a café just down the street.
It's not cold, but it's not so warm either, I wouldn't be sitting
outside at this time of the day, but Brits are Brits. I checked my
watch, around 4 p.m.
"Think of me, if you don't mind," said
Jeremy, "as a computer hacker, and ask me to hack into one of these
people's minds and make him or her do something, something
innocuous, something that will cause nobody any harm. Go
ahead."
"Anything?"
"Yes, anything innocuous, anything at
all."
Well, well, well, well, is this going
to be intriguing, I don’t think.
"Well now, let me see…let's take that waiter
who has just appeared. Do you think you could you make him drop his
tray with everything on it?"
It happened within two seconds. The waiter
dropped his tray, and two bottles, two glasses, and a cup of coffee
smashed across the pavement. A confused and apologetic waiter,
briefly startled customers, and an incredulous, disbelieving
me.
I looked at Jeremy and he just held up his
hands and shrugged. "One more go?" he asked, raising his eyebrows
at me, completely relaxed, nothing unusual going on here as far as
he was concerned. My mind on the other hand was racing with
all kinds of ridiculous thoughts, as you may imagine, electrical
impulses flashing back and forth and around and around, and finally
arriving at the only conclusion their logic would allow, namely
that what had just happened could be—no, had to be—an extraordinary
coincidence of the mind-boggling kind. And having told me this, my
brain took the next logical step and told me to check this out,
test him again, and to make it something difficult this time, don't
mess around.
And it took me no time at all to figure out
how, because a girl, a young woman who had been sitting at one of
the tables, stood up and started to walk in our direction.
"It would definitely be amusing, Mr.
Parker," I said, "if that young woman coming towards us were to
stop and ask me if she could meet up with me this evening. Don't
misunderstand me, nothing untoward involved, just meet. How about
that?"
He smiled at this, nodded briefly. And the
girl looked great. Not beautiful, but attractive, very pretty face
surrounded by shoulder length dark brown hair, dressed in a stylish
short white coat and, boy, what legs, the kind of legs we men
always say we would die for—which we wouldn't, of course, we would
look for another pair—but certainly the kind of legs which start
you thinking about what you would do like to do with them, and, as
far as one could tell, the rest of her figure was great as well.
Ah, and what do we mean by that? We mean a flat stomach, a nice
ass, not too big, not too small, and of course great breasts, also
not too big and not too small, and preferably nicely round-shaped
and firm. Most women don't appreciate this kind of thinking at all.
They don't wish to be viewed as sex objects—except, needless to
say, those who have no chance of ever
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