Besides, being late doomed any chances of him finding an aisle seat. He always took an aisle seat, as he needed the extra room it would afford him, so he could stretch his leg out. A badly arthritic hip needed a long respite from the cramped quarters on the plane, as well as in the shuttle bus, without even considering he had been crammed in the back of a cab with two oversized Midwest pork magnates who high jacked him and his cabby at LAX for a 'shared' ride.
Based upon all the bad omens the morning presented him, Carly knew his three days at this convention were not going to be a good time. Had he been able to time travel ahead another seventy-two hours he would have found that the miserable morning he had just had, might have been one of the high points of the entire journey.
The air conditioning that rushed forth to meet him as he opened the door to the lecture hall gave Carly his first break of the day and a slight hope that his shirt could hold out until he got to his room for a change. All the travel delays had negated any free time he might have had prior to the start of the convention, so he had not had time to check in to his room. Instead he found a rather disheveled version of himself going straight to the opening seminar. With suitcase in hand, the omnipresent tweed coat askew on the lanky frame, a flowery tie complimenting faded jeans and cowboy boots gave those who noticed the impression a rodeo refugee had just raided the inner sanctum of academia.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as circumstances and appearance allowed, Carly stood just inside the door of the auditorium enjoying the cool air as he scanned the hall hoping for an empty seat, he actually prayed for one close to where he stood. Coupled with the air conditioning, a second stroke of luck came in the form of an empty aisle seat only three rows away. Even more fortunate was the lone vacancy in the hundreds of filled seats, was on the right side of the aisle, offering Carly that extra ease in stretching out his tormented left hip. As he slid into the open seat, any further run of luck was dashed as he noticed two of the figures seated on the dais following his every move.
Oona Erickson, M.D. and Mason Merriwhether, Ph.D., the ever-popular and always mad husband and wife team, as Carly jovially referred to them after a couple of drinks, never wavered in their relentless staring until he was completely settled in and became motionless. Merriwhether, as he insisted on being called, was the psychologist, while Oona contributed her impressive credentials as a psychiatrist to their mutual ventures. For the bulk of the last few years they had remained inseparable or so it seemed. Carly could not recall a singular instance since he had known the two, in which one or the other was absent, or at least was not very far afield.
Merriwhether kept a slightly bemused grin on his face as he offered Carly a knowing wink, while Oona's deep black eyes penetrated his own as if by staring hard enough she could make the object of her scrutiny disappear.
“God, she's a bitch,” Carly thought. “Why is it that every time I see that woman, I get the feeling of being unclean, part of the great unwashed? No matter what I will ever do, perfect Oona will never recognize me as anything other than someone who just doesn't know his place.”
Merriwhether on the other hand, acted as the mirror image to Oona's cold facade. He was the 'ying' to her 'yang'. While she provided the numbers, Merriwhether gave the interpretation of the data. He was overtly friendly, she was stony silence. She was the nuts and bolts; he was the hyperbole. Together they were formidable, but individually, everyone knew Merriwhether was the driving force in their success.
Always on the sell, Merriwhether worked a room as smoothly and glibly as a career politician. Privately he was a tough as nails, and twice as sharp. It wasn't his desire to make the sale that bothered Carly, after all everyone had their agendas, but rather it was Merriwhether's bemusement and actual joy in making the sales pitch that proved so annoying. A small man with a big smile and prolonged handshake, Carly had always gotten the impression that behind the immaculately tailored suit and perfected capped teeth, there lay a shark. Of the two, Carly actually preferred Oona. She at least she was honest in her demeanor and attitude. With her it was a case of what you see is what you get, but with Merriwhether you never knew for sure. Over the years many people Carly included, learned quite painfully that the only surety in dealing with Merriwhether was the fact the final outcome would always be in his favor and of his own design.
Generally, Carly would not have put himself through this level of trial and tribulation but his attendance at the National Psychology Association convention was almost obligatory. Having been the Association president five years ago presented a responsibility to continue the support of an organization he frequently found himself at odds with in recent times. Having been requested as a moderator at one of the small group seminars this year, Carly had to come if for no other reason than professional courtesy. They had been good to him in the past, he could not deny. Recent changes in the whole field of psychology were the bones of contention, which he and those like him, found between themselves and the greater number of their peers.
The small group moderator role was one he liked though, making his attendance easier to digest. The opportunity to have open discussion with an exchange of ideas as well as a chance to hash out conflicting opinions was always challenging for Carly. The small group work offered a bit of intellectual excitement in contrast to the type of boredom that one could experience listening to the pontificating done in the large group presentations so prevalent at these conferences.
Five years ago he had thought otherwise. He had been the keynote speaker for the annual convention held in New Orleans. At that time his book on behavior and motivation, along with his extremely inflated ego were riding a high that led him to declare publicly that his lecture was more enlightenment than pontification. Standing before what he perceived to be an enthralled crowd, he had expounded on his theories. He neglected to see his own future self, in those who feigned interest.
The experience proved to be too much for him. He soon found himself actually believing that he, Carlton Thompson the celebrated detective, best-selling author, and nationally known psychologist had actually found the panacea for resolving all the quirks and foibles of the human condition. He found near belief in oneself was admirable and necessary for any type of success, but the absolute belief in oneself was a certain recipe for an inevitable deflation of ego, status, and eventually…stability.
The failure to recognize his own motivational problems and his over-reaction to his fifteen minutes in the spotlight came crashing down on him. The first deflation came in the form of a divorce from the underappreciated and often neglected spouse, Joy. The selfishness of his fame, accompanied by drunken one-night stands and countless days away from his home and hearth had been more than his wife Joy could stand. As a Monday morning quarterback, he found little solace in knowing Joy still loved him and remained his truest friend and confidant, as the loss of the marriage was a void he never was able to compensate for, ever since.
His next tribulation in the downward spiral, was a best seller that stopped selling, as they are destined to do. Before the ink was dry on the divorce decree, his book was but a memory in the bookstores. Finally, with self-wrought problems cascading about him, he painfully witnessed the sight of fame fleeing on to the next superstar of the moment. Someone else was the darling of the next convention, delivering the keynote speech as he watched from the crowd, recognized but not haled.
Worse yet, he found himself alone.
Learning his lessons well, he spent the next three years becoming a model ex-husband, a serious scholar and teacher in the field of behavioral science. To his great surprise and with an unexpected contentment, he found he was doing well living life in the middle of the pack, while leaving the lead dog role to people like Merriwhether.
His thoughts were abruptly broken by the mention of his name from the speaker's table. Merriwhether in warming up the crowd for his soon to be too long of a speech, had decided to chide the noted motivationalist, Professor Carlton Thompson for being la
te. It appeared in a most good natured way, Merriwhether had unintentionally made sure that Carly's obsession for timeliness was justified, as those who were tardy were made the center of attention when they least wanted to be. Carly responded to the jibe with a wide plastic smile, a half-hearted wave around the room, and the fervent hope that the grinning bastard on stage would move on to his speech. Fortunately, Merriwhether did not want to seem visibly cruel with an extended prod of a former colleague. While poking fun at Carly had its merits and enjoyment it was not nearly as seductive as giving his speech. After all, he was sure he was about to deliver his panacea for mankind's quirks and foibles to an audience he perceived to be enthralled to hear him.
As Merriwhether launched into his spiel accompanied by the lovely but frozen Oona with the audio-visual theatrics, Carly slid deeper into his seat to weather out the next hour of high-tech mumbo jumbo. It's not that Carly felt modern technology didn't have its place in psychology and psychiatry, because he believed it did. What he disagreed with was the miracle cure stigma it had come to have the past couple years, both from those who sold it and those who used it. Much like he had hung his hat on one psychological theory regarding motivation and the actions of the inner self, his contemporaries had come to treat the god of technology as the one true psychological savior.
As new technology blazed across the therapeutic horizon, the trend was towards more and more psychological programming in lieu of actual hands-on therapist-to-patient work. An ever increasing number of practitioners were no longer interested in sitting down with a patient and finding out the ‘how's’ and ‘why's’ anymore, when they could just let the ‘Id’ run free in a computer program using virtual reality scenarios.
Carly viewed Virtual Reality Therapy as a means of blowing off emotional steam, but it never addressed the reasons why someone would need such a release in the first place. The passive ease of participation it provided the patient was seductive, while the therapeutic ease of administration as well as the ability to mass-produce services were very lucrative for therapists.
As a behaviorist Carly saw VRT as a means of addressing symptoms but not the causes. It eclipsed the actual reasons why someone could get so violent, so angry, so enraged that they would need to spend excessive amounts of time and money committing unthinkable acts in the privacy of their psychologist's computer bank. The proponents of VRT cared not about why people were the way they were but rather concentrated on making sure they had a release that would effectively eliminate the need to exercise the undesirable urges outside of the clinical setting. Sated, albeit temporarily, desires best left unexpressed remained repressed but not expunged.
Merriwhether, as the primary disciple of VRT, had gone out of his way to sell the concept to Carly. At one point, when the two men had a closer professional relationship he had even offered Carly a position and part of the profits at MemoryLock, the company he and Oona had founded for VR program development. Carly had rejected the offer not just due to his distaste for the pair, but because he had felt VRT while offering a release on a temporary basis at least, also whetted the appetite for more of the same while by-passing successful healing. In actuality, virtual reality programming was very seductive, and highly addictive.
A few years earlier, until the government had stepped in and began regulating virtual reality, back lot parlors had been offering sessions so perverse and beyond the realm of normalization, a hue and cry arose from the general populace calling for an end to all virtual reality activities. Before the new millennium was twenty years old, it superseded most recreational drugs in its lure and addictiveness. Virtual reality nearly destroyed an already fragile society. During that time, when it was at its peak popularity, virtual reality created and then stimulated appetites for many latent pedophiles, necrophiliacs, cannibals and others equally tormented. Crimes of a most unspeakable nature rose to epidemic proportions.
The virtual reality scenarios had become so sophisticated so quickly, they moved out of the realm of the infantile arcade game with frightening speed. Programs were soon offering experiences so real, so life-like that reality itself became blasé. The new technology moved VR from headsets and control handles, to full body suits. Generally, users wore voluminous sealed suits to allow for temperature control as well as scent sensation. Each suit utilized a couple hundred sensors. They stood with a metal ring belt attached to a circular rail, allowing full three-sixty movement. For additional fees, there were sleeves for male genitalia, insertion probes for females, plus other orifices including the mouth. High end units, suspended the user above the floor to allow for flight sensation. Some included specialized contact lens to enhance vision. A few units even allowed for a pure oxygen feed as many swore it enhanced the experience. The basic unit cost around one hundred thousand dollars, with most parlors having a minimum of five. At a hundred dollars an hour the units paid for themselves quickly. The VR experiences could be general or if the money was right, completely customized, personal and highly specific. The nightmares of the new millennium came in a computer program.
What had frightened Carly the most was the mere fact everyday people would skip the summer trip with the family to Yellowstone and take a VR trip to Caligula's Rome. Quickly the weakest mind, the most despondent heart, the angriest soul could be appeased with a quick trip to a modern day never-never land. VR parlors sprang up in every neighborhood, every mall, and every shopette replacing the ubiquitous drug dispensaries. Fantasy friends and lovers could be summoned quickly and cheaply, so as to cheer the lonely. Sports and business acumen became deliverable on a weekly basis for the insecure and inferior. Those in need of a quick release for pent up rage and violence found solace in war games and death scenarios so real, so true to life that one could not walk away from the VR session unscathed emotionally or socially. An over-satiation of the basest instincts desensitized people to even the most sacred taboos, so the unthinkable had become not just thinkable, but actually do-able.
VR addiction became the latest buzzword of the age, and a social crisis of epic proportions. In time, more and more people permanently lapsed into scenarios which were infinitely more exciting, more alive than life itself. Murder rates rose as the line between everyday reality and the programming booth blurred. Crimes of passion and deviancy spiked, as inhibitions became a thing of the past. Volunteer joblessness became commonplace; as life, love, and success was easier found in the VR parlor.
The damage to young children and teens was even more insidious. Naturally susceptible and impressionable, the younger the viewer the greater the danger. Raised on contrived reality, many children became permanently and irretrievably psychotic. Carly recalled one case in which a very well-to-do fourteen-year-old girl died of malnutrition because she had lived in a VR program for nearly a week, taking no water, no food, all because she had thought she was getting it in the program. Fundamental human survival mechanisms took a back seat to virtual reality programming.
Carly, like many others in the social professions, knew it had to stop.
Ironically, the tragedies of virtual reality brought Carly, Oona and Merriwhether together and then separated them. They had first met during a symposium to stop widespread misuse of VR programming. While Carly learned nothing new at that convention either, he had met the two people who were to have the greatest influence on his life for the next twelve months. At that time, Carly was at the top of his field, as his book was just pushing to the head of the best seller list and he was about to ride the ego train for nearly two years. Oona and Merriwhether were just coming into their own success having found a fledgling industry by using VR as a therapeutic tool. They met at one of the ever-present hospitality suites.
Carly, despite his aversion to professional mixing, had arrived at the party merely to drown out another unfulfilled day in the sun, while Merriwhether was on his latest selling spree. Oona's presence seemed to function in an accessorized fashion, balancing Merriwhether's bag of tricks and snake oil, with a somewhat clinica
l family atmosphere. Quickly, Merriwhether recognized Carly as a rising comer, and proceeded to engulf the taller man in a long running conversation that intermittently bored the listener. It wasn't until Merriwhether launched into his crusade against unrestricted VR use, that Carly took note. Seeing more and more irreparable victims of VR addiction, Carly was looking for some means in which to truly combat it. Merriwhether provided the first concrete proposal.
While coming from polar opposites in philosophical points of view, the three quickly joined forces in pushing for some regulatory efforts to control VR usage. Together they were quite dynamic. Oona, the expert of technological medicine, Carly the social consciousness and holder of national prominence, and Merriwhether the consummate salesman, proved to be a formidable team. In a few short months, they coalesced the power and support of industry, science, and other social groups into a juggernaut for change. In less than a year they had successfully petitioned Congress to cease all VR programming and hardware production until industry standards could be devised which would determine the appropriate uses of VR and place it in the hands of trained clinicians using it for constructive ends. He remembered sitting enthralled while Merriwhether in a most passionate speech, pleaded with the U.N. general assembly to join the United States, Great Britain, Canada and a host of other countries to do the right thing and end VR abuses.
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