them anymore. When they treat something or fix something, it’s done once and for all. But that didn’t stop dad from being opposed to Einsteiner. He lost a lot of money when they started their operations, but he wasn’t against them because of the money. He said we knew too little about all this.”
“Now they’ve completely beat AIDS,” Sandrine went on. She obviously wanted to
improve Isaac’s mood. “Now they can cure cancer, asthma and all forms of allergies. They can cure everything, Isaac!”
“Everything, but not quite,” Bikie growled. “Some illnesses have been left out in the
cold. Alzheimer’s for instance – no one knew what caused the degenerative changes, and no one knows now. And your OE computer hasn’t learned how to cure Parkinson’s either. They can only cure the diseases that scientists have already done lots of research on. That metalware itself can do nothing, they just put together old crossword puzzles. Hell, why am I telling you, as if you didn’t know all that stuff?”
Strangely enough, it was Bikie who lifted Isaac’s mood, not Sandrine or Peter. What
Bikie said inspired Isaac, and he cheered up, recalling that his plan to find Professor Link had already started to become a reality. Everything was going really well. He had a team of fellow thinkers. Maybe it was not very big – only him and Bikie – but Peter had given them a place to
live and a bit of money. It was a good thing that Peter was on the sidelines since he turned out to be a great guy. It wasn’t clear yet if they were going to do anything illegal or it might not work out at all, but so far it was working and he was glad. “And so tonight we relax, drink and socialize!” Isaac thought with a smile, reaching out for a bottle.
“Friends! Not another single sad thought today and not a single mention of Collective
Mind! You and Sandrine are used to this place, but I want to luxuriate in paradise!” he cast a significant glance at Bikie and at his guitar. Bikie nodded eagerly.
“This time shall we set out to sea, or sail off on a drinking spree?” he sang, strumming the guitar, before reaching out for his bottle.
“Is that Byron?” Wolanski asked.
Isaac laughed so hard he almost choked.
Bikie gave Wolanski a severe look.
“That’s not By-ron, it’s By-kie. It’s my song, you dorks.”
“I wasn’t joking, I actually like it.”
“That’s the most terrible compliment I’ve ever heard. Dorks like my music.”
“I don’t get you. I can’t compliment you and I can’t criticize you either.”
“Why don’t you just listen without any comments?”
“Okay, okay. Can I at least light up my cigarette lighter and stand beside you for a while, like at a rock concert?”
Sandrine and Isaac laughed until they cried.
“You can lie down on the bottom of your pool with the lighter if you like. The longer the better.”
Bikie carried on strumming, sometimes the words were sad, sometimes really jaunty.
There was a lot about women and drinking. Everybody enjoyed listening.
“She gobbled her food by the ton, and her figure was soon lost and gone. She crammed
down that swill and GMO slop, in massive amounts, unable to stop,” he sang.
For some reason the women in his songs were beautiful, but very fat, a Botero of music.
“Her backside was just like a nut!” he continued, “Tra-la-la. All fatty and rough to the touch, La-la-la. Her backside was just like a nut, Tra-la-la, that goes by the name avocado.”
Boom! A loud final chord.
The evening was so heartwarming that Isaac felt amazing. Nice company, intelligent
people, light-hearted mood, even more awesome than with his university friends. “Man does not live by Pascal alone,” Isaac noted, recalling his evenings with his friend. And he had never sat around with a guitar like this before. Every cloud has a silver lining. If he hadn’t had problems, he wouldn’t have met Bikie or Peter, and he wouldn’t be sitting here at this
“Now they’ve completely beat AIDS,” Sandrine went on. She obviously wanted to
improve Isaac’s mood. “Now they can cure cancer, asthma and all forms of allergies. They can cure everything, Isaac!”
“Everything, but not quite,” Bikie growled. “Some illnesses have been left out in the
cold. Alzheimer’s for instance – no one knew what caused the degenerative changes, and no one knows now. And your OE computer hasn’t learned how to cure Parkinson’s either. They can only cure the diseases that scientists have already done lots of research on. That metalware itself can do nothing, they just put together old crossword puzzles. Hell, why am I telling you, as if you didn’t know all that stuff?”
Strangely enough, it was Bikie who lifted Isaac’s mood, not Sandrine or Peter. What
Bikie said inspired Isaac, and he cheered up, recalling that his plan to find Professor Link had already started to become a reality. Everything was going really well. He had a team of fellow thinkers. Maybe it was not very big – only him and Bikie – but Peter had given them a place to
live and a bit of money. It was a good thing that Peter was on the sidelines since he turned out to be a great guy. It wasn’t clear yet if they were going to do anything illegal or it might not work out at all, but so far it was working and he was glad. “And so tonight we relax, drink and socialize!” Isaac thought with a smile, reaching out for a bottle.
“Friends! Not another single sad thought today and not a single mention of Collective
Mind! You and Sandrine are used to this place, but I want to luxuriate in paradise!” he cast a significant glance at Bikie and at his guitar. Bikie nodded eagerly.
“This time shall we set out to sea, or sail off on a drinking spree?” he sang, strumming the guitar, before reaching out for his bottle.
“Is that Byron?” Wolanski asked.
Isaac laughed so hard he almost choked.
Bikie gave Wolanski a severe look.
“That’s not By-ron, it’s By-kie. It’s my song, you dorks.”
“I wasn’t joking, I actually like it.”
“That’s the most terrible compliment I’ve ever heard. Dorks like my music.”
“I don’t get you. I can’t compliment you and I can’t criticize you either.”
“Why don’t you just listen without any comments?”
“Okay, okay. Can I at least light up my cigarette lighter and stand beside you for a while, like at a rock concert?”
Sandrine and Isaac laughed until they cried.
“You can lie down on the bottom of your pool with the lighter if you like. The longer the better.”
Bikie carried on strumming, sometimes the words were sad, sometimes really jaunty.
There was a lot about women and drinking. Everybody enjoyed listening.
“She gobbled her food by the ton, and her figure was soon lost and gone. She crammed
down that swill and GMO slop, in massive amounts, unable to stop,” he sang.
For some reason the women in his songs were beautiful, but very fat, a Botero of music.
“Her backside was just like a nut!” he continued, “Tra-la-la. All fatty and rough to the touch, La-la-la. Her backside was just like a nut, Tra-la-la, that goes by the name avocado.”
Boom! A loud final chord.
The evening was so heartwarming that Isaac felt amazing. Nice company, intelligent
people, light-hearted mood, even more awesome than with his university friends. “Man does not live by Pascal alone,” Isaac noted, recalling his evenings with his friend. And he had never sat around with a guitar like this before. Every cloud has a silver lining. If he hadn’t had problems, he wouldn’t have met Bikie or Peter, and he wouldn’t be sitting here at this
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