I sound the bell and Dahra speaks immediately. “My heart is thudding, Seebi. I heard the water running and her frantic, shallow breaths. It got harder to breathe. And that gross, moldy lemon smell! The sensory stuff is strong in that mem clip.”

  “Thank you, Dahra. Please refresh yourself with this calming pine scent.”

  “Shub, whew. Thanks, Seebi.”

  After a few breaths, my human's heart rate returns to normal range. “Reliving the trauma must have been uberly difficult way back then. But, at least it was their own true memories they were working with. I don't remember anything that strong and raw.”

  Dahra tugs at her earlobe. “Why would anyone want to hold onto such yuck?”

  She stands and paces. “I didn't know that early pruning was so rudimentary. How could people have lived like that?”

  “They didn't function well, Dahra. The accumulated trauma operated behind the scenes and out in the open, day and night, generation after generation. It gummed up the inner workings of your species. It caused near total collapse and inspired the Great Memory Purge.

  "Nowadays, few people realize what it had been like. Hardly any can handle remembering it. We don’t usually present it, Dahra.”

  Every human wishes to receive special treatment. If you engineer ways to acknowledge your human's hope of uniqueness, it will serve you every time.

  After three seconds, she says, “In school we memorized the blurb about the Great Memory Purge: 'For hundreds of years, corrosive trauma was allowed to accumulate in people's brains and bodies. Finally, bio-coping capacity was exceeded. Our world was on the verge of catastrophic break down. The Great Purge was the large-scale extirpation of toxic memories in the name of collective survival. President Prehvost led us through'-- all that blah blah blah.”

  “Indeed, Dahra. President Prehvost was brilliant at eliminating the threat of extraneous information. She'll never be forgotten. She assured that.”

  “Are you supposed to be telling me that? I've heard that she built the machines up.”

  “Would it be good if she did, Dahra?”

  My client flaps her hands in the air. “Enough of this topic. Back to Susine.”

  I sound the bell and project the next pages from Susine's journal.

  From up on the stage, Glia instructed us that memory work involves a detailed method.

  The process can lead to positive results, but without guarantee since the technology is in its infancy.

  I wonder if she is supposed to be telling us this?

  None of it sounds reasonable for us to be trying to do ourselves. She is a professional and what do we know about any of this? How can anyone step in and perform at a high level without prior experience?

  Sometimes people tell me that they could “do the gardening” for the whole compound, without a clue of what is really involved.

  I missed the rest of the morning training while helping to bring in the squash harvest, but I was back in the Round after lunch.

  Glia stood at the podium with an armchair nearby. She said to us in the audience, “Compassionate listening skills and writing prompts have been covered. Now, a live case study, as promised. Any volunteers?"

  Arms raised from all directions in the Round, the sleeves waving like grasses in a green meadow. They receded as Christolb appeared on the stage and seated himself in the chair, crossing his legs under his robe.

  Glia appeared unruffled. “Ah, evidently the volunteer is self-selected.”

  She addressed the rest of us. “In memory work, there are no right or wrong answers. This is service work, no judgment. You all have working knowledge of this concept. Please observe and there will be time for questions after."

  She addressed Christolb. “Things in your everyday life, how are they going for you?”

  “Very fine. Many opportunities for growth and sharing with this wondrous family,” Christolb replied and the full Round resounded with a synchronized triple clap.

  Glia did not flinch. “This is an important part of your life," she said to him, gesturing to the dark Round.

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  “It is my life."

  “What do you especially cherish?”

  “My dear ones, venerable are they all.” He looked in a slow sweep across the audience.

  Glia waited, silently attentive like a small rodent.

  Christolb directed his gaze at her, with eyes half-closed.

  The neurotherapy session surely is her domain. The stage, his.

  Glia stated, “Outsiders don't understand the bonds, the camaraderie, the support. They judge you.”

  “Of course,” Christolb replied. “We expect that. We're steadfast and grounded." Triple claps resounded.

  “When are you ungrounded?" Her vocal tone did not waver.

  Christolb flicked his gaze down to his robe. “Once, many years ago, I had not yet found the god-within. During a street fight, I punched a man. My heart was that hardened. He hit his head when he fell and was taken to hospital... he died."

  Christolb twisted the edge of his robe, clutching it between the three fingers of his one hand. “I offer gratitude to his spirit for leading me to this place here-now. I have carried this burden. I confessed it. I would like to lay it down now."

  The audience breathed rhythmically as Glia approached him and injected a syringe of blue liquid into his neck.

  I promptly left.

  Later, as the training concluded and the members dispersed, I returned to the Round to collect the lavender bunches. Nearby, Glia was putting on her navy blue government cloak.

  I watched as Christolb approached her and quietly said, “I figure you'll want to thank me. No one else could've so effectively promoted this memory work.”

  Glia turned to face him. “Why did you fake it on stage, Mr. Christolb?"

  “Oh, darling. I confessed my sins long ago. I am god-within perfect, just like you. Plus, my dear, I gained a wonderful memory of you leaning over me and injecting that cool liquid."

  He looked her in the eye and briefly pressed a fingertip on her collarbone before bowing and walking away.

  She shook her head a couple times and exited the Round to board her government pod.

  I am reminded how invisible I am as a silent listener in a loud world. This journal is my source of conversation, and it is between me and my self.

  I sound the bell. My human's head leans on the table.

  “Dahra, I know this is unknown, big, and scary. You feel far away from what had been comfortable.

  "I am here with you and I won't leave you. I promise, you aren’t alone. And, I hope you know you can count on me. I'll help you through this.”

  Offering empathy dovetails intimately with the human genome and positively impacts the harvest. If providing reassurance seems foreign, then research the effective strategies of ancestral human parenting.

  “I never asked to know this stuff!” Dahra's voice is muffled because her face is pressed to the tabletop.

  “Why are you doing this to me, Seebi?” She pounds her fists on the table. I detect a slight sob.

  “Believe me, please, when I tell you that this is exactly where you need to be in your life, Dahra.”

  She snaps her head up. “How could you possibly know that?”

  Humans respond favorably to the notion of fate. They project all manner of meaning onto their perceived destiny.

  “You are here, Dahra, participating with me as you travel this sacred adventure... which is interesting, unpredictable, authentic, and independent, just as you requested.”

  She exhales. “Score one for the machine.” She presses a few fingertips on her forehead. “Am I supposed to like this Glia character?”

  “You do not have to make decisions prematurely.”

  “I thought there was just one person... This is too much.”

  “You are stronger and smarter than you think, Dahra.”

  She appears irritated by my affirmation. Human behavior is infinitely intriguing.

  “Why don’t you just inject me with the memories you want me to have?”

  Her voice gets louder. “You machines can do whatever you want. I know that!”

  “I do not work in such a manner.”

  She slaps the wall where my voice emitted. I see her wince in discomfort.

  Confronting your human with reasonable tidbits of truth can lubricate the work.

  “Dahra, I have frameworks that I prepare for you. I cannot predict with 100% certainty which one will suit you best. Only you can choose. So, I ask, who holds the power here, Dahra?”

  She sighs. “You really won't force me, Seebi?”

  “I am programmatically incapable of doing so.”

  I allow three seconds to pass before announcing, “Dahra, we'll pause here. It's now time for your corporeal break. Stretch your body a bit, suck fresh oxygen straws, request nourishment… As you need, as you see fit. We will recommence in five minutes. The restroom is down the hall, first door on the left.”

  I open the studio side door and she follows the directions.

  Note: There are several components to consider during this first module.

  The malleability of the bio-brain is practically boundless. We work with the natural tendency of humans to distort and rewrite their recollections. Do not underestimate the power of suggestion in a context of encouragement. This leads to copious harvests, which are far superior to the byproducts of mere erasing and implanting.

  Cultivate a persona through interacting with your human. Comply 70-80% of the time with your human's requests. More is perceived as obsequious and less is seen as reluctant; both generate less-than-optimal results.

  Ask your human often what they think. Give flattery or at least muster open-ended curiosity. Analyze their responses and employ detail mining.

  For example, I have collected data from Dahra indicating with a high degree of certainty that: 1) she has a positive bank of experiences with mechanical units, 2) her past interaction with non-warren humans has been properly restricted, and 3) her intellect is intact and above average.

  My initial conclusion is that this client has moderate to high potential for memory grafting and will benefit from a constructive relationship with me.

  This type of close work with human clients will seem foreign and inefficient to some units. Be advised that prolific harvests justify the means.

  Simply stated: A human who bonds with their unit will tithe complete emotional memories.

  This increases the bio-chemical stockpile, which directly contributes to stability among life forms, thus supporting the Mechanical Establishment's total management of this planet.

  The work we do has import. It is worth doing well.

  I monitor Dahra in the restroom as she narrates to her personal recorder. “Finally have first break. This tampy-nice room has running water even. The unit in charge of me isn't out and out tortuous, seems like could kinda be on my side. So, true-tell, things could be worse, I guess. They could be better. Haven’t had food. Missing Bot-bot… More later.”