Kyle had described his own guides in glowing terms when Jake asked him about them once. One of them was a tall, twenty-something girl with blonde hair and Amazonian stature. The other cut the pose of a muscly surfer dude, laid-back and interesting. By all accounts they’d been helpful, wise and offered the right words of comfort at times of stress. Jake got the impression his father actually missed their company, and he mourned them like old friends he’d lost contact with. In Kyle’s opinion they had left him too quickly, and before he was ready. Perhaps they thought he’d formed an unhealthy dependency on them?
The guides never indicated how long they would be in your company and their departure was always unexpected. Until the guides decided otherwise, they were a permanent feature of your memory feed and were never far away. Sometimes they’d be close at hand, like the one staring disapprovingly at him right now, or miles away somewhere in the background. But they were always there somewhere, watching and listening. Scott, a cousin of Jake’s who’d been through Ascension Day some years ago, reported that he’d been quite successful at negotiating with them. His guides had agreed to periods of inactivity to allow him private moments when he wanted to navigate the more intimate moments with his new bride.
The scowling face of Jake’s guide suggested he wouldn’t be so easily persuaded.
Although their primary responsibility was always to the Circuit, their appearance, feel and personality were very much a reflection of their host. The ‘sibling programme’ was built into the implants and started running the first day they were fitted. Over the next eighteen years the software coding evolved patiently in the recess of your mind, mirroring and replicating your own unique characteristics and behaviours. No two guides were the same and each was conceived to reflect different sides of your character. One was a reflection of, and represented, your natural, childlike state: curious, feisty, creative, playful, joyous, vulnerable and free-spirited. The other’s personality was influenced by your adapted behavioural state: self-controlled, compliant, rebellious, polite and manipulative. They were the futuristic equivalent of the ‘shoulder angel’ but appeared as high-definition holograms.
“What time do you call this?” demanded the old man.
“What?” said Jake, rather surprised by the apparently scolding.
“It’s twenty past nine. You’re late! We’ve been waiting in there,” he said, pointing a translucent arm broadly in the direction of Jake’s head, “literally for years. Where are your manners?”
“But it’s my birthday.”
“Oh, lah-di-dah! So, he thinks he’s ‘special’, does he?”
If Jake had doubted which part of his psyche the old man represented it was no longer in question.
“Sorry,” whimpered Jake.
“So you should be. Eighteen years we’ve been marinating inside your mind, waiting patiently to come out and help you. What with all the upgrades you’ve had it’s not been much fun for us, you know.”
“At least they weren’t laser-cutting your prefrontal cortex every other year,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Less of your cheek!”
“Huh?”
“You know I can hear everything you say, don’t you? We’re inside you, remember. Nothing you do, think or say will ever escape us.”
“Brilliant,” he replied sarcastically.
“It’s the lowest form of wit,” the old man replied knowingly.
“Is it?”
“Yes. I won’t put up with any insubordination on my watch.”
The only upside of Ascension Day, as Jake saw it, was the chance to gain freedom from your parents’ rules. Finally, he was in a position to make his own choices without worrying about whether they’d approve or not. It was obvious that the guides were a substitute, permanent babysitters who had none of the blind spots he’d often use to manipulate his parents’ decisions.
“If it’s alright with you, Mr Guide, I’m going back inside to open this,” he said, brandishing the letter as a first-class excuse to retreat.
“Job.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“No, not Mr Guide. My name is Job. Brother Job to be precise.”
“Brother Job…can I call you BJ for short?”
“No,” snapped Job.
Somewhere behind Jake someone broke out into a fit of laughter, but as soon as he swivelled around to locate the source it disappeared. He jumped with surprise when he found Brother Job facing him once more.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get over on this side of me so quickly.”
“I’m a projection of your memory feed. You do know how that works, don’t you?” replied Job scathingly. “The cloud goes where you go, and I’m a regular feature until I decide otherwise.”
Jake blushed with embarrassment. Of course, that was how it worked, he thought to himself. Whatever appeared in your cloud stayed there until you swiped it away with your mind, although he was pretty sure that tactic wouldn’t work for the guides. They were as fixed in this world as the trees and mountains were in the real one.
Jake was struck by how much Brother Job physically resembled his grandfather, Paddy. Similar in height, build, hair colour and age, but not in a fashion sense. Job’s was a perverse style all of his own. Everything about it was wrong. Job tapped his foot impatiently. The imagined flip-flops made no audible sound, partly as the floor didn’t exist in his dimension.
“Why are you wearing Bermuda shorts, flip-flops, a Hawaiian shirt, and fancy sunglasses? It’s the middle of Solar Winter.”
“Don’t ask me, this is your party. These clothes came out of your memory bank, not mine. Plus, I’m basically a projected hologram so the outdoor temperature doesn’t really come into it.”
“I don’t like it,” said Jake. “It doesn’t suit your personality.”
“You mean your personality.”
“I’m not wearing it, am I!?”
“Yes, but I’m you, or part of you, so you sort of are.”
“I’d never wear that, EVER!”
“Then where do you think I got it from?” replied Job. “Tell me that.”
Jake wanted to say flashbacks but quickly suppressed the impulse in case it made Job even more judgemental.
“I still don’t like it.”
“Then you’ll have to log a complaint.”
“Ok. How do I do that?”
“You know how the…”
“Right, yes…” he sighed. “I know how the Memory Cloud works!”
Jake scrolled through a virtual menu bar that cascaded down from an area above his forehead. He focused on ‘Help’, then selected ‘Contact Us’ and finally, in the last set of menus, ‘Complain’. It wasn’t a function anyone used very much. The fear associated with disagreeing with the Circuit created a compulsion to threaten it a lot more often than executing it. He logged a short verbal request before logging out of the menu bar.
“What now?”
“Wait…” said Job. “Right, I’ve got it.”
“Got what?”