|Pharl of Peril ~ Dreaming of a Margined life|
The second movement brought on a confusing state of writing and a harder job on those who critiqued it. I thank *you* for your patience with my wild writing hand.
This was a whirl wind chapter that took 30 minutes to write, then a revisement beating for two days.
I was quite embarrassed by the chapter b/c I editted it once...
I hope my changes made it better, and not end up on the writers scrap heap.
Lights are dim in the O.R.
White ghostly glowing words, ticker across Pharls open
'You we're dreaming again, weren't you? Girl were on in 5 minutes and I can't have these lethargic readings from you."
"I know" Pharl mouths inaudible words.
"Meeting number 47.1 and haven't lost a deal yet, we're hot baby, we're hot" Ren's enthusiasm rolls across Pharls face.
"0.2 isn't going to be easy but I say we'll be able to go home right on time"
"Best be. I'm going to Vegas after this, I need to work another angle"
"Isn't this enough gambling for you?" Pharl words quickly.
"It's not my money to keep" Ren’s words scroll instantly as she ends her sentence.
Pharl’s trying to relax now, just a bit. She hates waiting to connect to the Towers central databases. She really dislikes starring at the ceiling. Lying down, strapped, and waiting to make moves, Pharl is trying harder to relax in the O.R., Operations Room, of the Towers. Pharl’s job title is World Trader of the N. American Towers. World Trader’s are the ones who keep everything together, globally connected by a very fine thread.
"Pharl, I'm starting the countdown"
She thinks to herself.
When she took up the job, her professor told her "You know the story, Rumpilstilskin? Well, you’re the spinning maid and the leprechaun in this tale"
The O.R. table is now rotating from the horizontal to the vertical position.
Pharl tenses a bit, this make her anxious.
"Girl, breath slowly, your pulse is going up slightly, relax I'll start up the table, ok"
Pharl winks at Ren. The table is now emitting a low frequency bass line. It runs through Pharl and immediately sooths her nerves. Anticipating the moment she is neurulled into the databases, sometimes it gets her scared. When you’re unconscious for a couple of hours, you too would be a little worried.
The stock market were once runned by hundreds of trader’s world wide, controlling the economy and all countries blood wealth.
“Little ants scurrying around some big floor.”
Pharl’s interpretation of a documentary she once watched in history class.
Soon computers we're introduced to the trading floor, hundreds of worker ants we're no longer needed as computers moved in, becoming the forefront of all trading transactions. The trading pits we're soon abandoned and replaced by mega server rooms, only a hundred of so traders we're needed now to run the show.
As new technology grew so did the worlds problems. Many technologies we're developed over desperate situations regarding national securities. This is the fine thread that Pharl spins; the legacy of the N. American Towers. Neurolled Communications, with only eighty traders worldwide. Pharl is the youngest and one of five female operators or 'surgeons', as everyone lovingly calls them, who work with the OR grind. And just like surgeons, they're out there, try to save lives.
Skilled in the arts of Neurolled Communications, they work in hypnagogia, the realms of lucid dreaming while the computer databases are directly interfaces the hippocampus, the neocortex of the operators brain, allowing all eighty employees to work almost endless hours at the speed of light all in a dreamlike state.
Working trades in seconds compared to the chaos of the old world systems. Yelling and hand gestures, a days struggle to determine one or two points of some company stocks.
There are better ways of deriving order from chaos.
This is the beauty of the O.R. and Neurelled technologies. Being placed in a purgatorious state for 10 hours, the body doesn't know that it has traveled to Hong Kong and back 200 times over in a matter of an hour.
Pharl didn't mind the work, it gave her purpose and some importance to her life. She was a perfectionist of sorts. If she could, she would demand 20 hour shifts rather then 10, but her 'Margined host' couldn't possibly keep up with her demands.
This would be the job of Ren, Pharls ‘Margined host' or Aesthetician, depending who your talking to.
Ren rather be called a magician, but Aesthetician sounds professional and women love professionals.
He came on board the same time Pharl joined. Besides keeping her 'mind' and 'body' in perfect stasis, His job was just to read her bio, brain activities, the physical network traffic inside the department, and plays medic if something was to go wrong. But Ren also watches 'physical' activities going on the world board.
"Pharl, launch time is in 8 minutes, Geneva is ready on board and you'll be next"
White ticker runs across her closed eyes.
Pharl is ready to take off into the ghost world. She feels a cold presence. Ren is preparing the rectangle screen, a gel like rectangle slightly bigger then the O.R. table. It’s exactly fitted to Pharls height.
The rectangle hangs parallel to Pharl and one inch away from her body. The dark gray hanging slab starts to glow, glistening and shimmering. It’s alive, electrical pulses running through the glowing rectangle, now a translucent blue gel .
Nothing can pry Pharl's mind open without a Nurelled Communication unit. Each unit is designed specifically for each operator. The priceless units are developed the same time a intern is iniciated into the operator program. Unit development is customised to each intern. It's almost an intimate moment for an operator to go under for the very first time. Pharl was estatic.
Ren starts to run the sequence, decrypting the new codes of the day.
"I'll see you later girl"
The cold instantly envelopes Pharl’s body. Ren on the other side reading her bios.
"Perfect temperature, heart rate is slightly elevated but normal, breathing is normal, and REM is present ."
Ren talks softy to his monitors while typing, giving the first of today’s reports to the Medical department and Head office.
Pharl is no longer awake; at least her body isn't awake.
An avatar is now being projected by Pharl through the gel screen. It’s the Towers generic female presentation avatar. If Pharl had to be at a meeting or to give a report in somebody’s office, this would be the image they saw. It would cause too many security risks if clients found out what Pharl looked like. This generic image avatar became standard after a traveling group of Medifield staff disappeared, later found executed. No one was about to risk their necks out for a meeting again.
Ren types more reports for the department. Pharl's mind begins to connect with the centralized databases of the Towers.
Pharl is dreaming, lucid dreaming. She knows this and looks at her hands. In first person view, she is staring at a bunch of floating screen and keyboards.
Pharl runs through her sequence of code at one of the glowing keyboard.
Pharl’s subconscious is the cold locker for all new crypto and codes. Ren inserts new crypto into the netherworld of Pharl's mind right before he wakes her up. Although intrusive and maybe perverted, Ren likes this part of his job the most and almost finds it fetish like to be 'inserting' stuff in someone elses head. Although Ren has been tempted, it wouldn't be worth lossing his job over. Or her.
Pharl starts to familiars herself to her minds office, it's all triggered when she sees her hands. Pharl knows she's not a coder or crypto master, just a trader, nothing else. In subconscious state, she is exactly the opposite.
Now Pharl waiting for the screens to show her Geneva’s central towers database and for N. American towers for clearance. She types in more data.
Ren looks up from his terminals and watches Pharls fingers tapping the OR table.
He gets up swiftly and grabs some electrical tape. Carefully he tapes down Pharls fingertips to the table.
"You got to lose that bad habit girl"
Ren whispers in Pharls ear.
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