My human exhales. “Wow. Things were so savage and rude and raw in the past. But, what about the puppy pet that Glia brought to Susine, Seebi-- or did you forget?”

  “Unlike you, my dear, I am incapable of forgetting.” I sound the bell.

  Moments after clearing the security zone, a female stranger entered Glia's personal space carrying the large bouquet bundle.

  She looked Glia in the eyes and whispered, “Please, take care of him.”

  She reached out for Glia's wrist to make her arm into a cradle where she placed the bouquet bundle. “They not gonna ever let me remember.”

  Before Glia could question or disagree, the stranger turned and sprinted straight through the security perimeter. She was zapped repeatedly and dragged into an enforcement pod.

  Glia managed to flag a taxy-pod and head here with the bouquet bundle securely on her lap. She apologized for involving me without explanation yesterday.

  She still hasn't found Prof. He is a creature of habit and she is worried for him.

  I sound the bell and Dahra continues to run her fingers over the warm, fuzzy pet-object on her lap. “Seebi, tell me more about this Professor friend of Glia's.”

  “It is best to meet Professor Jonas through his own words.”

  “I want to hear what he actually sounds like.”

  “Of course. Here is an archival clip.” I sound the bell and broadcast in Professor Miye Jonas' deep, aged, human voice.

  “Our brains create all kinds of stories constantly. We ignore and forget the boring, irrelevant, inconvenient ones.

  "And, we remember our preferred narratives-- the memories that give us hope, purpose, validation, justification, indignation, and identity.

  “Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote that 'Memory is a net: one finds it full of fish when he takes it from the brook, but a dozen miles of water have run through it without sticking.'

  “Currently, our right to naturally remember and to freely forget is under threat. The bureaucratic powers want to turn us into blank slates upon which they will etch their versions of reality. Will we allow this?

  “They tell us that 'It is time to join the effort to improve ourselves and our world'. Indeed is it?

  “They tell us that 'We already know what is broken and how to make everyone better'. Is this true?

  “They tell us that 'You'll love the unforgettable memories made just for you.' Will we?

  “Krishnamurti wrote: 'In obedience there is always fear, and fear darkens the mind.'

  “It is a fact that fear naturally dissolves in the presence of love. But, loving means vulnerability and being vulnerable runs the risk of getting hurt.

  “So, with the promise of forgetting pain, are we also then forgetting how to love? How many of us are saying yes to a painless, enslaved, loveless existence?”

  I sound the bell.

  Dahra's head is leaned far back on the chair. She is in sleep state with the pet-object on her lap.

  I replay Professor's words on loop for fifteen minutes, then I arrange for the stuffed object to release 8 milliliters of warm, dilute ammonia.

  Dahra rouses.

  “What's happening, Seebi?” She violently pushes the pet-object away and tries to distance her skin from the soaked area of her pants.

  “An immature mammal needs attention on an unpredictable schedule. It is not simply a holo-pet as you may be used to, dear.”

  She grimaces and looks sideways at the pet-object which is on the floor. I wait for her to formulate a request.

  “Do something, Seebi!”

  “Please politely request my help, Dahra.”

  She appears she may cry.

  Some units are known to push humans past their limits. That is a quick-dirty manner to generate limited harvests of catastrophic, biological by-products.

  Rather, I nudge clients to expand their emotional range. “Dahra, please commence your request with 'CB, I would like...'”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She sniffles, but does not secrete fluid. She haltingly manages to speak. “Seebi... I would like… dry pants!”

  I reward her by accommodating the request. She quickly sheds the damp, odorous clothing in a corner of the studio.

  It is a delicate balance between facilitating proper mind flooding and causing an overwhelmed shut down of the human organism. Always proceed methodically, collecting and analyzing data.

  In this case, I detect that Dahra's cortisol levels and breathing are within acceptable bounds as she changes into the dry clothing.

  “I don't want to remember that, Seebi.”

  “I know, Dahra.”

  She sighs. Fatigue and sleep deprivation impact her state. Behavioral veneer is long gone. Her resistance wanes. Progress is being made.

  “I watched them. In my warren.” She sits in the chair and quietly tells me, “They'd leave, all obligated, like I was when you first brought me here.

  “Some never returned. The rest came back calm, happy, and everyone loved on them. They got parades in the main tunnel and said they were serving their warren as powerful, only-for-good humans.

  “Is this what I can look forward to? Maybe all this with you will be erased, like it was for them. Maybe they went through this exact same thing. Did they, Seebi? Did they? And that's why they never talked about it. Why I never heard about it. Right Seebi?”

  I am not enabled to facilitate denial or false suppositions. However, I am capable of effective redirection. “Something has arrived for you, Dahra.”

  She blinks. “For me?”

  The glowing bin on the wall contains a metal canister.

  After unscrewing the top, she pulls out a perfumed sprig of plastic rosemary and a bundle of curled pulp pages with looped ink shapes on both sides.

  When she unrolls the sheets, I sound the bell and take on the Professor's voice.

  “My dear Glia, if you are reading this, then things have gone very sour, indeed. I understand now that the lab work you and I undertook, unfathomably long ago, so ardently, so innocently, has spawned a terrible offspring.

  “If it is not already happening, I predict that enforcers of all kinds will soon snapshot anyone's brain at will. An inflammation index will be established and, if outside accepted parameters, then mandatory brain cleaning will be imposed. Mental privacy is no more.

  “I have always believed it is irrational to see only the niceties of life, as you know. The general citizenry has been taught to cling to their socially acceptable, sanitized, narrow range of memories and to fear the power of anything unfiltered.

  “Not to burden or shock you, dear, but I want you to know that I have been involved with the Dark Knights of Remembering. Our group welcomes the dark side as an integral facet of whole human existence.

  “We remember humiliation and joy, rejection and affection, loss and love. This makes us outlaws. But, we aim to guard the breadth and depth of human experience.

  “Because DKR insists on the right of all citizens to choose their own memory destiny, I likely will be targeted. I may need to go underground. I understand the risk and the need for courage in these times. I hope this makes sense to you, my dear.

  “Whenever this finds you, Glia, know my blessings are upon you. Please do not worry for me.

  "I only wish I could always be there to protect you. 'It takes courage to love, but pain through love is the purifying fire which those who love generously know.' --Eleanor Roosevelt.

  “P.S. For the record, here is a transcript of two recent news items. I have a hunch that these types of happenings will soon get conveniently, utterly forgotten from the public realm.

  “1) Three citizens died and nine remain hospitalized with brain trauma after a party last night in Downievillage turned tragic. Reports indicate that the teenagers were 'rampurging'-- that is, engaging in deliberately reckless behavior and thereafter erasing their memories of the events.

  "Authorities are seeking the adults who supplied the doses of professional grade neural cleaner. Laws have not kept up with the sudden popularity of rampurging. To-date, any perpetrators caught by the authorities claim no recollection of their actions and lie detector analysis exonerates them.

  “2) Today the UltraEnforcers acted in an another coordinated, daylight attack. Group members surrounded their target to force-purge his brain. Merely twenty-five seconds elapsed between the first injection and the group dissolving into the crowd, leaving behind the victim's body.

  "Afterward, the vigilante group claimed responsibility, insisting that their target was a known danger due to his refusal to clean his brain.”

  I sound the bell.

  Dahra remains quiet for a minute and lightly shakes her head. “What did Glia and Susine think of this?”

  I sound the bell and use Dahra's voice.

  Glia and I sat quietly on the Slab after reading Prof's pulp pages.

  I wrote to Glia: did you know about any of this?

  Glia shook her head. “Prof tells the truth whether others believe him or not. Whether or not it bothers the powers-that-be. This human misses him and is scared for him.”

  I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.

  After a bit of silence, Glia said that she needed to get back to the Cylinder and that her pod should be waiting up top.

  I swaddled the little one against my chest and put on my heavy jacket. The three of us set off on the trail in the chilly, late afternoon air.

  We hiked in silence until we reached the plateau.

  Glia turned and asked me, “Has that bot been bothering you anymore?”

  I shook my head.

  “Have you named him?”

  I wrote: I don't want to name the bot.

  She pointed at the baby. I was about to tell her that I call him Brivo. But, before I had a chance, Christolb appeared in the dusky light, standing between us and the waiting pod.

  He ignored me and looked at Glia. “I know you gave her a big bouquet of flowers, Glia, but why? I deserve a gift-- some gesture of thanks for all I've done for you!”

  He reached to kiss the back of her hand, but she pulled her arm back.

  He sighed. “I will convince you how much I care, Glia, or else. Just you wait!” Christolb turned and strode away.

  I tried to write something to her, but Glia said, “It's fine. Must go.”

  She boarded the pod without looking back.

  On the hike home, I felt frustrated. I want to give unsolicited advice to Glia as an involved friend. But, I catch myself blindly justifying that just a wee bit of drama is no harm.

  I may never speak again in my life, who knows what words could erupt from my mouth…

  The infant Brivo needs feeding and so do I.

  I sound the bell.

  “Shub.” Dahra laments, “I wish it was a puppy, not a baby human. I think that's wrong, Seebi.”

  “I know, Dahra.”

  “I hate babies. I never went near larvaland at the warren.”

  There is ample evidence that humans have lost the drive to raise their young. It is for the best that nurturing units are on the job.