A Future We'd Like to See 1.4 - The Common Sense By Twoflower (Copyright 1993) VOS! The galaxy was shuddering under the incredible technological breakthrough. Finally, an abstract way of viewing data with a clean, simple mental link and no fussing with control devices named after rodents. 'Course, you can do more entertaining things with VOS that just being able to view your bar charts in 3-D, contrary to what some business might think. There's infinite possibilities for games, entertainment, crime, etc. And who brings it all to you? The network! Connect up with VOSnet, and enjoy a number of preconstructed social hotspots. The Septic Tank! HappiSystem! BarneyWorld! Lifesized, fully working replicas of places made popular in movie, fiction, and fact. Complete with familiar settings, sounds, smells, sights and tastes. They don't bring you those, however, I do. That's me, Prkky H'plla. Don't bother trying to pronounce it, humans can never get the Yttian tongue correct, making it sound like cheaply synthesized voice software. Anyway, my point is that you'd still think you were in some cheap-ass simulation if it weren't for me. I'm a sensitizer, workin' for the Tank's selective cliente. The common sense, the man that everybody feels through. With a simple headband, 'trode, and briefcase recorder you can make money and see the galaxy by recording your senses for other people to sense while zoning out in unreality. Not that I get to see any worlds. No legitimate sensitizing agencies would hire a non-human. Claim the fur screws up the sensors or something. Bunch of speciesists are what they are. So, I serve the Yttian public by recording senses that they can use, instead of having to deal with inferior human recordings. After all, humans can't hear very well out of those dinky, warped little things they call 'ears'. They barely can hear a whisper at twenty feet! Us Ytts, being the proud rabbitoid species we are, get long, adjustable ears, perfect for reception. Plus, our sense of smell is infinitely better. Colognes and perfumes imported from off-world have to be watered down, lest they short out our sensitive noses. So where do they get off turning ME down? Not that I care, because I make more money being a freelance sampler than some corporate stooge. Plus, I can do it from the comfort of my own home, here in the urban hell surrounding the Yttian capital city on Yttia. I can't stand travelling offworld. You have to deal with talking in that accursed English, not to mention the chance of bumping into a Murfle. Most of the planet had coped with the sudden end of the Ytt/Murfle war a few dozen years back, but my family was hurt too much during it to whisk it away at the Confederation's request. Since humans are gonna be reading this mem-wyar of mine however, I gotta write and talk in English. This means you won't be getting the full effect of the adjective rich Yttian vocabulary, so I'll have to attempt to translate the adjectives out. They're pretty specific, so bear with me. Anyway, I'm not going to start this out with 'it all happened when' because this particular tale in my life didn't take long enough to 'happen when', so we'll start out on that street corner at the junction of 5th and Ikky. I had been sweeping this section last night for good senses my dealers in the Septic Tank might be able to fod off on some of my brother Ytts who worked there. I got three scents of putrid sewer stench, one taste of a REALLY good hamburger (I had to eat six before I got the right one), the sight of a recent murder victim (modern rez artists jump at that stuff) and two orgasms. It was a good night, and my dealers bought most of my stock. You get some real sickos in the less select parts of the net, but I don't mind, 'cuz I'm helping out the Yttian cause and flipping the bird at those corporate samplers to boot. I had a checklist to work on tonight, from some guy developing a video game that needed very specific samples. Really odd ones, too. Sound of broken glass? Woman's scream? Smell of burning flesh? Seems we've got an action game on our hands here. Some of these didn't seem too fun to get, however. Good thing when I flip the recorder on, I can turn on a sense damper. Intercept the sense, suck it right into the recorder, never reach my mind. I figured I'd grab some basic everyday samples before starting in on this creep's list, since the night was young. Hot dog vendor at two o'clock; mottled green fur, odd coloring in some spots, real thin. Apparently this guy's hot dogs were so bad, nobody would buy 'em. Poor sop. I bought one out of pity, and also out of patriotism. Gotta support local planet business, unless we want ALL our DAT recorders and holovision sets made by Terra. I was eating the stale hot dog (how did he manage THAT?) without the recorder on, since it was too bad to make the cut unless you had a real weird client, when I bumped into 'im. The guy was about six feet tall, not counting the ears. We Ytts are kinda short, maybe about the average human's size with the ears, so you gotta subtract a foot to six inches or so before measuring. So, this guy was about six foot six or seven feet by your scales. There was an almost exact replica of him standing behind me, I noticed. Wonder how he got there. I looked for a way around this green, furry blockade to sprint for cover (these guys smelled of fresh blood... that's Ytt senses for ya), but never found one. "What's with the white-color-associated-with-a-newly-waxed- hoverlimo headband?" a voice from the shadows said. (Look, I warned you I'd have to translate the quotes out of Yttian. We've got some really bitchin' adjectives, but they don't work well in english. Deal with it.) The figure walked out. Polyester threads, shades, the usual pimpery outfit. Maybe pimpery isn't the right word in english, but you get the picture. "Sensitizer," I said. "I'm a freelance sense recorder for VOSnet Ytts. If you need any something-which-is-difficult-to- find-in-the-local-stores, I'm your guy." "I know," he said, flicking a cigarette butt across the alley. "I hear you paid one of my girls and recorded it twice with her." Alright, I admit this. Don't look at me all funny that way, the payment from the samples far outweighed the service fee. I'm a businessman, pure and simple. Supply and demand. "Yeah. So why are acting like a one-who-just-learned-their- house-was-levelled-in-a-nuclear-blast?" "I don't like my girls bein' copied, even if it's only their services," he said. "You must be a total one-who-drives-slow-in- the-fast-lane-with-a-silly-hat-and-no-ear-to-the-road if you didn't realize I'd be wanting some royalties." Actually, I hadn't figured on this. It was the first order I had for sex samples, and I didn't figure that anybody would particularly mind as long as proper payment was given. "If it's a matter of getting money," I said, "I can ask my clients to pay you a share off the top of any profits made on the sample. I doubt they'll be making a amount-of-something-which- is-equal-to-its-weight-in-1000-stacked-PlainsBeasts on the deal, though, so I don't think it'll help your finances any." "I was thinking of taking it out of your fur." "Mine's a bit mangy. I doubt any hunter would be proud to claim they whacked me." (By the way, language note, 'whacked' is not translated. The verb 'to kill' in Yttian is 'whack' Go figure.) "I wasn't thinking of whacking you," he said. "Just having you experience sensation-of-one-thousand-papercuts-on-your- genitals." "Eep," I said. "Well, while I'm sure that'd be a fun sense to record, I can't say I'd enjoy it. Look, I'm a busy man, I really have to be going--" "You're not going anywhere, jkky." I can't really translate 'jkky', but let's just say it's the Terran equivalent to compacting every insulting curse word that exists into one neat little syllable. Anger taking control before my common sense kicked in, I decked the guy one across the jaw. When I realized A) He's not out cold and B) That was a very stupid thing to do and C) his two meatheads were charging at me, I grabbed my sensitizer briefcase and dived under the legs of one of the brick wall goons. I knew these streets like the back on my ear, and the chase was over fast. Hunks of muscle like that just don't move real fast, no matter how built up their legs are; there's too much to move. Since I'm a nimble, gangly sort of guy, it was just a matter of hopping over the nearest fence and diving into a sewer pipe. I'd never make a jump like that without my handy-dandy, all purpose Yttian legs. I scrabbled along the metal pipe, carefully avoiding the fetid sludge that flowed along the base of the pipe, and tuned in to see where my fan club had gone. It was hard to hear anything, with all the echo going on in this pipe, but no sounds of violent shouting could be heard. I've wasted enough time, I thought. I'd better get to that assignment and stop toying with the locals. The list was a bit crumpled from my Moonlight Race Through the Streets of Yttia(tm), but I could still read it by the moonlight filtering into the pipe. Woman scream (H). Broken glass (H). Gunshot (H,F). Smoke (S). Blood (T,F). Stab Wound (F). Superficial Burns (F). The list continued, looking like a stock list of a city riot. This guy's insane if he thinks I'm taking a bullet so he can make a lousy video game. That's what the F means, folks. Feel. The common sense is NOT going to go through with that one. A six figure digit floated into my head, the price the guy had quoted for the job. This was going to be quite a popular game, after all, a followup to the one his group of hackers did where you got to race around a Nazi castle with a chain gun raising hell. A sick idea cropped into my head. I don't know where I get them from, but somewhere in my noggin there has to be a sick idea factory. I had to find mister tacky clothing and his goons again. I crawled along the sewer pipe, towards the opening, when a long furry arm grabbed my collar and dragged me out. Well, step one solved, I thought, glancing at the smiling, cigarette smoking face of the pimp. I clicked the RECORD and NULL buttons on my briefcase before they could rip it from my hands. It was okay, 'cuz the headband's on a no-wire link to the case. "Hi, guys," I managed, considering the situation. "How about a deal?" "I am not interested in cowardly-payback-to-avoid-messy- situation, jkky." "No, not money. How about this. You guys do whatever you'd like to me, as long as you don't kill me, and we call it even." "We were gonna do that in the first place, one-who-takes- three-minutes-to-tell-that-someone-has-set-fire-to-his-tail." "Yeah, but I'm offering to hold still for it." They blinked. I guess it's the first time their quarry rolled over and gave up. I hoped it wouldn't take any fun out of their work. "As long as I don't die, that is," I pointed out. "Sounds good," the guy shrugged, not knowing what to make of the situation. "Let 'im have it, boys. But go a little easy, this jkky's braveness-and-courage-shown-in-the-battle-of- I'llikar. He's got guts, too." The first of the two plunges a knife into my arm. The second shot me twice in the leg. "See you around, youth-who-gets-into-too-much-trouble," the pimp said, extinguishing his cigarette on my shoulder. The goon dumped me on the soggy ground, and the trio of trouble simply walked away. I walked casually a nearby phone, dialed 911 (the only decent invention you humans came up with) and explained that I was mugged at the old construction site on 6th and Rwwy. I hung up, and sat around waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Of course, THIS part wouldn't be fun at all. I had to turn off the recorder and sense nuller or the batteries would be spent and I'd lose my brilliantly claimed torture samples there. I braced myself, and pushed STOP. Human words completely fail to describe the pain, although I'm sure some famous author of yours could handle it. Needless to say, my arm felt like it was going to drop off, and my leg wasn't doing real well (considering I had started walking on it already). The cigarette burn just took off some fur. I laughed my now-rich little head off, thanking the night sky for blessing me with such cash flow as the sirens wailed on in the night. Waiting around for the medics was a bitch, but the common sense thankfully decided to pass out at that moment.