Negative Energy

Prex Lessons

The hallway was winding, long, and featureless, with doors evenly spaced along both sides. Approaching from the opposite direction was an attractive young woman. A tri-colored braid reached down to just above her hips, which were nicely set off by her pinched waist. His eyes tracked her as she passed.

"Hey, you." She stopped and turned. "Were you just checking me out?"

"What—no." The denial was reflexive, as was the trajectory of his eyes as they moved from her full lips to perked-up breasts whose contours were clearly visible through the stretch fabric of her shirt. He felt a warmth in his groin and willed himself to cool off. He was over forty, for God's sake. She barely looked twenty.

She fixed him with dusky eyes that held a depth of knowing beyond her youth. "Hm, that's better," she said. "So maybe you're not a complete fleshbag. Is your Nex malfunctioning?"

"I don't think so," Matt said, then added, "I just came from the rebodification center."

Her scowl gave way to an easygoing smile. "Oh, you're serious. That would explain it. You're prexing like crazy. I thought you were trying to mess with me."

"What's prexing?" he asked.

"A combination of expressions, pheromones, and other tells that give away your emotional state to other people. It's the opposite of a good poker face."

"And that's bad because?"

"Think about it."

Matt quested the history of emotive AI. When prexing came onto the scene a few years before the Fever Decade, the initial applications were beneficial: diagnosing mental disorders, gauging attention in a classroom, and finding chemical attraction between singles. But when it got into the hands of advertisers, things took a turn for the worse. Ads amplified the baser feelings of anger, greed, and lust. After a series of hate crimes perpetrated by previously non-violent individuals, the resulting outrage prompted the introduction of prex blockers. "I see. It makes you vulnerable to emotional manipulation."

"I lived through that time," the young woman said. "People were worried they could be tricked into acting out in hate or passion. On the flip side, claiming to be the victim of prex targeting became an effective legal strategy. It was hard to tell who was being coerced and who was just using it as an excuse to act out."

Matt did some mental arithmetic. The woman's age didn't add up. "How old are you?"

"I'm sixty-eight," she said. "All original, factory hardware. Don't look so shocked. How old is your body? Nineteen? Why the colored hair? Because I like it that way. How do I know what you're thinking? It's not hard when you wear your reactions on your sleeve. Still, I'm a good guesser. Hey now, eyes up here. I forget what effect a pair of breasts can have on the unfiltered male mind. Would you like some help tuning your prex settings? You really shouldn't go around with them wide open like that. People will get the wrong idea."

"How do I do that?"

"Look into my eyes and don't break contact until I say."

Their eyes locked, and a yellow ring appeared around her dusky irises.

"You have to grant me host access so the neural interpreter will accept my intentions as your own. See the yellow rings? Bring them together in your mind until they overlap."

When Matt did so, they fused and brightened. He felt something akin to a mental click, and the ring turned electric blue. Their minds were now interlocked.

"Now clear your thoughts so there won't be any mental contention. Picture yourself in the center of a calm, empty lake."

With an ease that surprised him, the tumult of Matt's thoughts receded like a distant shoreline, and he achieved a place of unbroken, mental stillness. He sensed another presence moving over the surface of his mind like a breath of wind.

"That's it. Now hold onto that serenity and don't lose focus. This may take a little bit."

Several minutes slipped by as the woman went about her mysterious work.

"Almost done," she said at last. "You should never do this with a complete stranger, by the way. They could turn you into their mind puppet—mwah-ha-ha! Relax, I'm just messing with you. There, that does it. From now on, you'll be able to keep all those naughty thoughts to yourself. You'll still be able to path though, so be careful with your conscious intentions. There's no off switch for being a jackass." The blue ring extinguished, and she broke off eye contact.

"What does it mean to path?" Matt asked.

"Wow, you really did just fall off the body wagon," she said. "Let's save that lesson for later. First, we need to set your default prex state. Think of a pleasant memory, but nothing too exciting. No wet dreams, for instance. Scent memories work best since they can be mapped directly onto pheromones. Think of it as emotional deodorant."

Matt formulated a thought. "Done, I think."

"Let's test it." She moved in close and ran a finger teasingly along his jawline. "I'm picking up something pungent and outdoorsy, a bit like pine—no, sharper... Some kind of herb?"

"Cut grass." Mowing the yard had been Matt's first adult responsibility. Even in middle age, he took pride in making neat, even tracks.

"It's working." She stepped back and extended a hand. "The name's Ina. Ina Munoz."

They shook hands. "Matt Harmon."

"Good to meet you, Matt. Sorry to dash off, but I should be getting along. Besides, you must be eager to get settled into your new place."

Ina had only taken a few steps when she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her lips didn't move, but words formed clearly in his mind, Don't be a stranger.