Living History by Ben Essex (best motivational books of all time .txt) 📕

beauty. Serious money had been spent-it was definitely plush. Red lanterns hung over blue tables, fluorescent bars of every colour ribbing the walls. Every chair was a sculpture, every lamp a work of art. There were even water features.

Still, all that shine simply hid a different kind of dirt. I recognised a couple of patrons from ‘Most Wanted’ posters. There was generally at least one kidnap victim huddled at the corner table, being pressed into an uncomfortable meal.

A brilliant blue lizard flashed over my feet, chasing after a cockroach. The dinosaurs here had been repainted to match the decor, and trained to earn their keep. I watched them distrustfully.

Derry herself was behind the counter, yelling at chefs. Her face was round and kindly, which somehow made her temper all the more terrifying. She twirled her moustache with villainous abandon.

‘Jasie!’ The moment she saw me, Derry smiled. We’d known each other forever-we didn’t grow up far apart. ‘What can I get you?’

‘The usual.’ Broth.

‘Coming up,’ Derry grinned. ‘You bring something for me?’

‘Raptor meat,’ I told her. ‘Five big heaps. Think you can do something with it?’

‘Fried or crisped?’

‘Both.’

‘Hmmm.’ Derry bit her bottom lip. ‘I could probably whip something together with that. I’m guessing you don’t have it with you?’

‘My apartment.’ I tossed her the keys.

‘I’ll send a courier.’ She tossed the keys to one of her boys.

‘Tell them not to touch anything.’

‘Please,’ Derry said. ‘My kids know better than that. So, my man, what’ve you been up to?’ She leant on the counter, apparently oblivious to all the customers who weren’t me. ‘Haven’t seen you here in longer than usual.’

‘Busy busy,’ I shrugged. ‘You know me.’

‘Hardly ever.’

I smiled. ‘Say, Derry. You know much about history?’

‘Got a degree in it.’

I blinked. I didn’t recall Derry having an education. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ Derry nodded. ‘I mean, it’s not my degree. I downloaded it a couple of years ago for a laugh.’

‘For a laugh?’

‘On a bet.’

‘Oh.’

‘Why’d you ask?’

‘I’ve got this, uh, project,’ I waved my hands vaguely. ‘I think I might need to know some history.’

‘Well, five loads of Raptor probably does buy you more favours than a free meal.’ Derry clicked her tongue. ‘Tell you what, come by my place later. I’ll see if I can help you out.’

That night, I went to Derry’s apartment. We had a little bit of sex, mostly out of habit. It was quite nice.

Afterwards, she showed me her history degree.

Cybernetics had always been Derry’s passion. Implants, body-shopping, augmentation, that sort of stuff. When she was little, she had a blue LED installed in her right eye for no particular reason. It’s a phase some kids go through.

Thus, her apartment was filled with Neuro-interface clamps, Virtual Reality Headsets, Holographic Immersion pads; some of it quite high-end stuff, some of it quite nasty looking. Apparently, the restaurant business could fund some pretty serious hobbies.

Her history degree had been downloaded straight from the internet, through a jack cable and into her skull. Not being one for shoving relays into the brain myself, I asked her if she could get me a more tangible copy.

‘Sure thing, Jasie,’ she said. ‘But you’ve really got to stop being such a prude.’

Derry plugged herself into the mesh of circuitry taking up most of her living room, and spent a long moment doing what I can only describe as writhe. Apparently, VR provides the ultimate high. Personally, I don’t see the point of the ultimate high. Eventually, you’re going to have to come back down to Earth.

After a while, Derry emerged from the web of wire clutching a small crystal disc. The wafer thin speck was pressed into my hands.

‘Here,’ she said, a little flushed. ‘I think I got everything out of my head.’

‘Thanks, Derry.’

‘You know, it’d be easier to experience it for yourself than to read about it on a screen,’ she said, pointedly. ‘So I’ve left all the VR access tabs enabled.’

‘That’s nice, Derry, but I’m not going to-‘

‘Aw, come on, Jasie,’ Derry grinned at me, moustache creasing upward. ‘History’s no fun on paper. Try living in the past for a couple of hours.’

Reading up on the nation’s Founding Fathers, I couldn’t help but feel that some of the stories might have been just a little bit exaggerated.

For instance, the tale of George Washington defeating the English Hordes at Olde New York. Of course Washington was an excellent General, but it didn’t seem realistic that he could’ve killed five hundred enemy men single-handedly. Also, the portrayal of foreign countries struck me as simplistic at best. Was Spain’s sole contribution to history really the invention of cannibalism? Surely treachery was not universal amongst the Ancient French? And let’s be honest-everyone knows the Swiss penchant for neutrality. But it didn’t seem likely that they’d once banned every colour other than beige.

Clich�s are a modern problem. Since the Great Collapse, every country on Earth has had a particular national stereotype, and all the history books have been altered to make it seem forever-so. I suppose it’s an attempt to make things less confusing for children.

Of all the stories, the most inflated was the biography of Benjamin Franklin. I refused to believe that any one individual could be responsible for inventions ranging from the light-bulb to electricity to the concept of yellow. There had to be some distortion in there somewhere.

But as I sat alone in my bed, reading over all those great stories of all those great men, I couldn’t help wonder… what were they like? How did they live? How close were they to the legends they inspired? The Founders-they had a whole mountain carved out in their image. What must a man do to earn that kind of respect?

A few hours later, I was back on Derry’s doorstep. It was four in the morning. Getting her to answer the door was a challenge.

‘Jesus, Jasie.’ Her yawn was a roar. ‘What do you want?’

‘You were right.’ I pushed into her flat without thinking-I’m allowed to do that. I couldn’t help noticing that all of her VR equipment was still up and running. Maybe she hadn’t been asleep after all.

I held up the little data-crystal. ‘I do want to see it for myself. Derry. I want to meet them.’

The virtual world is tingly.

Experiencing it involves sensory aphasia; an enforced departure of mind from body. It makes your nerves all fluttery, makes everything go loose and light. It’s a bit like being comfortably drunk-not hammered, but slightly more than tipsy. You get used to it.

I was standing in a room.

Derry wasn’t with me. She went back to bed; told me to knock myself out with her equipment.

I felt queasy. The last stages of uploading are like a mental dry-heave. The tingling is briefly supplanted by internal retching-then equilibrium returns.

I was standing in a room.

It was a simple room. Nice furniture-all wooden and antique. Crimson drapes. A desk, with a window looking out onto nothing in particular. Literally, nothing in particular-a flood of blinding daylight was blotting out the view, overexposing it into nothingness. Probably so the server didn’t have to worry about rendering too many extra details.

Sitting at the desk was a man-a big man, quite rotund. Head balding, remaining white hair grown long to compensate. Glasses balanced over a wide nose, jaw curved. He was wearing a frilly shirt and a ruffled waistcoat. The man had an aura of kindness about him; his glance instilled instant trust. There was a knowing sharpness behind his eyes; signs of a soul wise and a little bit mercurial.

The virtual Benjamin Franklin was writing-or rather sketching-with a quill pen. It looked like he was in the process of scribing some kind of blueprint for… what looked like a stove, or fireplace. Okay, I thought, this is getting ridiculous. Is there anything this man did not invent?

Franklin did nothing for a while, apparently ignorant of my presence. Then, quite suddenly, he looked up. His expression indicated he’d been aware of me the entire time.

‘Yes?’ He said pertly. ‘Can I help you with anything?’

He wasn’t surprised to see me, of course. The simulation would be programmed to absorb my presence. For some reason, I felt a little bit unnerved. It’s only a low-level Sim, I told myself. He’s a very simple program, not even nearly alive. Still, nothing about the man-shaped thing before me seemed the slightest bit fake.

This is why I don’t like VR.

I took a seat.

‘Mr Franklin-Ben. Can I call you Ben?’

‘At this early stage of our relationship, I would just as soon you did not.’

‘Fair enough,’ I smiled. Oh my God, I’m actually intimidated by a Simulacra. ‘Sir, in that case… I want you to tell me all about your life.’

‘Ah.’ Ben smiled. ‘A biographer. About time one arrived, I think. All right then, Mr-‘

‘Mr. White.’

‘Hmmm.’ Ben grunted. ‘All right then, Mr. White. Let’s start at the beginning.’

‘He didn’t even graduate from the school-he was supposed to go into the Church, but he was so smart that he managed to get out of that, he was married twice to women who, if I do say so myself, were very nice for their time… he travelled all over the place, I mean, he was practically-‘

‘All right,’ Derry snapped. ‘You’re going to have to shut up about Benjamin Fucking Franklin right about now, or I’m going to kill you.’

‘Sorry,’ I said shyly. ‘Am I gushing?’

‘Like the cheapest whore I’ve ever met,’ Derry said.

We were having dinner-at my place, for a change. I cooked, as a thank you to Derry for installing some VR equipment in my room.

‘He’s just… a remarkable man, Derry. They’re all remarkable men. People like that aren’t born anymore.’

‘Sure they are,’ Derry shrugged. ‘We just kill them off early.’

‘That’s even worse.’

‘I really don’t see why you’re so impressed,’ Derry said. ‘They were just a bunch of elderly, white, slave-owning men who happened to be both not stupid and not in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m just as good as them. You’re just as good as them.’

‘Neither of us,’ I pointed out, ‘invented electricity.’

‘He didn’t invent electricity…’

‘It’s amazing, Derry-to think I’m going to play a part in bringing these men back to life…’

I stopped, and dropped my fork. Oh, crap.

‘ “Bringing these men back to life,” ‘ Derry echoed, gaping. ‘That’s your project.’

‘I don’t suppose you could forget I ever said that?’

‘My God, J, why?’

‘Merchandising.’

‘Merchandising?’

‘It’s that kind of world.’

Derry was taken aback. ‘Uh… I mean… wow. How are you going to do it?’

‘That’s Stage Three.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Stage Three is working out how to do it. Stage One is assimilating the enormity of what I have to do. I’m still at Stage One.’

‘What’s Stage Two?’

‘Inspiration magically striking me.’ I rubbed my teeth together-an anxious habit. ‘If only they hadn’t messed up that stupid time machine…’

‘Why don’t you just use the Simulacra?’

I stared at Derry. ‘What?’

‘Why don’t you just use the Personality Simulations from the VR degree I gave you? Download a Sim, find something to use as a brain, stick them together in a cloned body, and bang. You’ve got a walking, talking historical figure. Or as good as.’

I considered this. But… ‘The Personality Simulations are very simple, though. They’re just designed to educate you about the subject’s life. Their responses are all pre-programmed.’

‘So?’ Derry shrugged. ‘You’re pretty smart. Can’t you make them a little more real?’

I thought for