Chapter 22: COLLATERAL DAMAGEHe had no idea where the rest of the squad was now. Mickey Levitt had obviously bought it, he had felt the blood splatter his own face when the side of Mickey's head had exploded. At least it had been quick for him. The sergeant had shouted something but his voice had been lost in the explosion of a shell behind them. By the light of the same shell he had seen them veer off to the right, maybe towards a bunker that he hadn't spotted himself. If there was a bunker he hadn't been able to find it.Moving blindly forward he trod on something soft and yielding. It was a human arm inside the sleeve of a uniform. It might still be connected to its owner's body, there was so little light it was difficult to tell, and in any case it made no real difference. He paused and looked furtively from side to side into the darkness, every inch of him trembling as he tried feverishly to come up with a sensible course of action.Two enormous flashes lit up the horizon ahead
Chapter 23: THE BATTLEFIELD PHILOSOPHERIt wouldn't be entirely true to say that I had arrived at this airport by chance. There were many routes that I could have chosen to get home to London from the Far East, stop-overs at Bucharest or Abbu Dhabi, Vienna or Cairo, but I had chosen this obscure little Central European capital because as soon as I had seen its name I had remembered my old friend of University days, Oliver McClure. Oliver had been my favourite teacher, a charming and eccentric Irish ex-priest, not a great deal older than his students, who lectured to the trainee teachers on the esoteric subject of "Philosophy of Education". I had never forgotten his answer to a young girl's question in the very first lecture that he had given to my group: it was an answer that had seized my attention and led me into an obsession with philosophy which came to rule my life. "Will studying philosophy make it any easier for us in the classroom?" she had asked. "Only if I fail," Oliver had
Chapter 24: INTELLIGENT DESIGNHyphialta surfaced a long way out to sea, and taking a moment to relax and catch her breath, scanned the familiar outline of her private harbour. Alrik was there as usual, sitting in the deckchair by the slipway, beneath the arm of her personal hoist. A family of sea lions sunned themselves on the jetty by his side, while a few lazy marine iguanas slid into the sea one by one from the rocks at his feet. Behind him the wind turbine turned slowly above the angular arrays of solar panels and the enormous mesh satellite dish – human intrusions gleaming in the morning sunshine. He seemed to be reading a book, or perhaps making notes. She swam back slowly, wondering if he would notice her approach."Welcome back, Alta. That was a long dive.""Was it? It's beautiful out there. Dolphins, rays, turtles, hundreds of sea lions… why don't you join me? You haven't dived yet and this is one of the best locations in the whole world.""Maybe later. I don't do much divin
Chapter 25: FULL-FIGURED WOMAN, 29Dear full-figured woman, 29I too like sports. I used to play in the Sunday League, and was a keen member of the Neasden Swimming Club, but these days I have to make do with a weekly visit to the gym. Like you I enjoy foreign travel.I work for Southern Roll which is a firm of merchant bankers (that is not rhyming slang). I'm one of the IT support team. That means I try to fix any problems that come up with the computers and and get the system working again. As you can imagine, I'm a very busy man.I'm surprised you don't use the Internet to meet people. I use it a lot. Although maybe it's not a great place to find a deep meaningful relationship, but there are DMR websites. You can put up a photograph, which always grabs people's attention. You should put a picture in your Metro advert.I'm a slim 39-year-old, 5 foot 11 inches, slightly receding hair, great teeth. I dress smart casual and I drive a BMW Z4 SE. You're probably wondering why a young spo
Chapter 26: FLAT MATEBenny came in, hung up his wet plastic mack, and went at once to the wall mirror in the sitting room. He stood in front of it and looked at his reflection.“Raining outside?” his reflection asked.“Of course it’s raining. You’re not going to tell me that it isn’t raining on your side, are you?”His reflection paused. “No. You’re quite right. If it’s raining on your side it must be raining on my side too.”“Must? Is that a logical must? Are you trying to pretend that there’s some kind of sense to all this?”“You’re in a bad mood tonight. Why are you in a bad mood?”“You know perfectly well why. Stop pretending.”His reflection frowned. “So it didn’t go all that well with Sharon. You didn’t manage to press the right buttons.”Benny turned away from the mirror and sat down. He could still hear his reflection’s voice. There was no need to see him. “You were with her as well tonight. How did you get on with your Sharon?” He glanced towards the inhabitant of the mirror
Chapter 27: THE MIND'SThis is a bit of philosophizing of the kind that an academic philosopher might do in the pub after the seminar. Philosophizing with a claw hammer, so to speak. Ever since seeing "2001: A Space Odyssey" in the late 1960s I have been fascinated by the idea of artificial intelligence (or "machine intelligence" or "electronic intelligence" or "machine consciousness" or any of the other names by which it goes). I wrote a number of short stories about it, eventually a novel called "SIRAT", and more recently was invited to deliver a lecture on it (a very basic introduction to the subject) at an American university. I can't claim to be a genuine worker in the field but I am a very enthusiastic amateur.The notion of creating some kind of a machine that can think, a conscious computer presumably, collides head on with a genuine and deep philosophical problem. The oldest one in Western philosophy, perhaps. The relationship between the inner world of the mind in which we a
Chapter 28: TELLING TALESHave you ever wondered why human beings tell stories? Has there ever been a human culture that didn’t?There is something compulsive about this “narrative drive” in human beings. We can no more resist it than we can suppress the impulse to breathe or to walk on two legs. We are story-telling animals in the same way that wolves are pack animals. Not only are we story-telling animals, it is our story-telling skills that have (to paraphrase Reginald Perrin’s boss CJ) got us where we are today.Suppose for a moment that we did not tell any stories - that we constructed no narrative to accompany our experience. What would we see when we looked out into the world? All that we would “see” (or more accurately, experience) would be raw data. A meaningless flux of light and dark, colour and shape, movement and stillness. It’s only when we start to interpret, to tell a story about the raw data, that we can perceive the world at all. That undulating mass of greenish blue
Chapter 29: SWIMMING AT ROGIEIt’s good of you to ask, but I’m perfectly all right. I’m just sitting here looking at the sea. I’m not planning to top myself or anything like that.Yes, I took them off because I was thinking about having a wee swim in Rogie. Just thinking about it. It would be a daft thing to do, really. I haven’t got swimming trunks or a towel or anything, and the sun’s low in the sky. I’d have to go back to Molly’s house in wet underpants. I’d probably catch my death of cold.Yes, I did mean Molly Regan. You know her, do you?Your aunt? Surely you’re not Bilshie Travers’ son? … Oh, his grandson. And so Molly would be your great aunt. God, is it really as long ago as that? Yes, I suppose it is. When I was your age I thought time went on forever; that I could be or do anything I wanted. And then suddenly there was no time left and I hadn’t done any of it. Sorry, I’m talking like an old fart now. Pay me no heed.Yes, of course I knew Bilshie. I was brought up in Bundora
Chapter 35: The Scattered GroupTrixie walked as she wandered the public park. But, there should be public library here, too. So where it is?"I've asked so many people but they don't know where a nearby library was!" she just sulked at the nearby chair and sat. "Is there library here in the first place?"She just shook her head. After all, finding the book on herself will raise her status at the group. She will be the real cynosure!!"That's why I should find it as fast as possible!" she said and stood. She ran and so positive that she can search for the book by herself!---Meanwhile, Ella stared as she misstepped into an orange brick, and a creaking sound was heard! She looked up at the ceiling and saw the brick proportionally above it moved towards the North West!"Huh?! What happened?!!"The arrow of that brick that was facing west slowly moved towards Northwest. Ella looked towards the Northwest, and saw a strange portion of the wall."Was that wall a closed door?" she whispered
Chapter 34: Search for the BookI and Emma stared at the four staffs who arrived at the cart we are boarding on. "Who are they, Emma?" I silently asked."Let me introduce ourselves." One of the most elderly man walked before us. "We are the prevent staffs of the Alpha High""And we are here to stop you!" one of them interfered.Emma was left shocked. "To stop us?""We heard your infiltration last day, and that you're searching for the book Priam wrote that was considered confidential to the school." the first one who spoke replied."We won't!" I said with full of certainty. "We cannot let you do that!"After all, who are they to command me? I am Priam's child! I have to authority to search for his book."W-Why would..." Emma whispered in shock. "...the information leaked too fast?!"She's right! Why would that happened?"We came here preserve such libraries as a part of our duty being librarian staffs." another one of them said."Your searching can damage such libraries and books!" th
Chapter 33: IMBALANCELou heard his wife come in the front door and glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost half-past-two in the morning. Could have been worse, he supposed. She’d warned him it would be a long session. He couldn’t be the one to talk, he’d only just got over the headache from old Barrington’s retirement party. He waited in a pleasant state of semi-consciousness for the sound of her feet on the stairs, water running in the bathroom, the rustle of undressing, the shock of cold air as she pulled back the duvet to climb in beside him.But as the drowsy minutes slipped by there was no further sound from downstairs. Maybe she was making herself a cup of coffee to clear her head. Those hen parties could be pretty wild affairs, he had been told. He opened his eyes and glanced at the clock again. Forty minutes had passed. He became fully awake. Forty minutes? It doesn’t take forty minutes to make a cup of coffee.He sat up and listened hard, but all he could hear was the br
Chapter 32: ODDS AND SODSQUESTION: Why did the chicken cross the road?Arthur Scargill: It had been so exploited, brainwashed and deceived by the farming class that it no longer understood that its true interests lay on its own side of the road.Machiavelli: The point is that the chicken crossed the road, who cares why? Chickens cross roads, producing situations which can provide the alert motorist with a free dinner.Timothy Leary: Because it was the only kind of trip the Establishment would allow him to take.Freud: The fact that you even notice a chicken crossing the road is highly revealing with regard to your state of clinical sexual frustration.Richard M. Nixon: The chicken did not cross the road. I repeat, the chicken did not cross the road.Darwin: Over many eons of bird evolution a chicken has emerged with a predisposition for crossing roads.Fox Moulder: That is the question they WANT you to ask. You've got to try to look at the bigger picture.National Front Spokesman: To
Chapter 31: BREAKING NEWSAbsolutely genuine, unedited news items...Firework Prank Back-fires" I wanted to play a prank on her, but I can see I hadn't really thought it out," 35 year old Shannon Kramer admitted to police officers from his hospital bed in Jacksonville, Florida. "I'd driven my girlfriend out to the beach in my old Mustang, and she got out and was walking around. I was sitting in the drivers seat and I thought it would be kinda funny to shoot a firework at her out of the window.I had a box of 6 inch rockets with me so I aimed one at her and lit it. Only then did I realise that the electric window was wound up. I couldn't wind it down because the key wasn't in the ignition. I suppose I should have opened the door and got out, but by the time I'd thought of that, the rocket had gone off and was whooshing round and round inside the car. It was awful. So bright and loud and hot and fast. I thought I was dead. I couldn't see, couldn't hear, it set fire to my hair and cloth
Chapter 30: PIGEONS AND PATRIOTSMrs. Rogers said that somebody came to the door yesterday asking about me. A man in his forties with an Irish accent. She couldn't tell what he looked like because it was dark.She was surprised when I told her I was leaving. She said: "Leaving? Already? You've only been here three months." Actually she was wrong, it's less than that. Three months would be close to my record. She asked me if there was something wrong, some reason why I wasn't happy here. I gave her the usual story. "Got to go where the job sends me," I said. If only there was a job. That little bit of money I invested all those years ago is nearly gone now.Considering present circumstances though, it looks like it's been enough to see me out. Who would have thought it? There wasn't much lying ahead for me. When all the money was gone I would have gone into some kind of hostel for down-and-outs, I suppose. Pretended to be mad so that I wouldn't have to provide a past. I would have surv
Chapter 29: SWIMMING AT ROGIEIt’s good of you to ask, but I’m perfectly all right. I’m just sitting here looking at the sea. I’m not planning to top myself or anything like that.Yes, I took them off because I was thinking about having a wee swim in Rogie. Just thinking about it. It would be a daft thing to do, really. I haven’t got swimming trunks or a towel or anything, and the sun’s low in the sky. I’d have to go back to Molly’s house in wet underpants. I’d probably catch my death of cold.Yes, I did mean Molly Regan. You know her, do you?Your aunt? Surely you’re not Bilshie Travers’ son? … Oh, his grandson. And so Molly would be your great aunt. God, is it really as long ago as that? Yes, I suppose it is. When I was your age I thought time went on forever; that I could be or do anything I wanted. And then suddenly there was no time left and I hadn’t done any of it. Sorry, I’m talking like an old fart now. Pay me no heed.Yes, of course I knew Bilshie. I was brought up in Bundora
Chapter 28: TELLING TALESHave you ever wondered why human beings tell stories? Has there ever been a human culture that didn’t?There is something compulsive about this “narrative drive” in human beings. We can no more resist it than we can suppress the impulse to breathe or to walk on two legs. We are story-telling animals in the same way that wolves are pack animals. Not only are we story-telling animals, it is our story-telling skills that have (to paraphrase Reginald Perrin’s boss CJ) got us where we are today.Suppose for a moment that we did not tell any stories - that we constructed no narrative to accompany our experience. What would we see when we looked out into the world? All that we would “see” (or more accurately, experience) would be raw data. A meaningless flux of light and dark, colour and shape, movement and stillness. It’s only when we start to interpret, to tell a story about the raw data, that we can perceive the world at all. That undulating mass of greenish blue
Chapter 27: THE MIND'SThis is a bit of philosophizing of the kind that an academic philosopher might do in the pub after the seminar. Philosophizing with a claw hammer, so to speak. Ever since seeing "2001: A Space Odyssey" in the late 1960s I have been fascinated by the idea of artificial intelligence (or "machine intelligence" or "electronic intelligence" or "machine consciousness" or any of the other names by which it goes). I wrote a number of short stories about it, eventually a novel called "SIRAT", and more recently was invited to deliver a lecture on it (a very basic introduction to the subject) at an American university. I can't claim to be a genuine worker in the field but I am a very enthusiastic amateur.The notion of creating some kind of a machine that can think, a conscious computer presumably, collides head on with a genuine and deep philosophical problem. The oldest one in Western philosophy, perhaps. The relationship between the inner world of the mind in which we a