The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(23)

“It’s the secret Neo-Luddite group again,” he whispers, looking around as though they have ears in this hospital.

As I learned some time ago, a Luddite, as defined by Bert, is someone who’s against any kind of progress. The Neo variety seem to be specifically against modern technological progress. From what I’ve gathered from my friend’s admittedly biased description of them, they are a bunch of crazy people who would have humanity go back to living in caves if they could. The Unabomber was a flavor of one of these people, according to Bert.

This specific conspiracy theory states that there is a secret group that takes out talented scientists in critical fields, such as robotics, genetics, informatics, and nanotechnology. Their motive is to prevent the transformative changes these fields can bring.

I don’t believe in this conspiracy, of course, but I do know there are people who fear progress and change. To them I say, “Go into the forest and try living for a day without sanitation, without your iPhone, without a gun to shoot wolves that want to eat you, and without antibiotics for the gangrene you might get from a simple cut. Then come back and tell me you still want to go back to the caveman days.”

I certainly wouldn’t.

“What makes you think this wasn’t suicide?” I ask, even though I know I’m just encouraging Bert’s craziness.

“Well, it’s their MO,” he says, and inside the game, gives me a particularly nasty punch.

“Right, of course,” I say sarcastically, blocking the next kick and countering with a sword thrust.

Bert is clearly unhappy with my lack of faith in his theory, and the yellow creature on my screen throws my hero off the game platform as a manifestation of his grumpiness.

We go back and forth like this, with me playing the devil’s advocate about the conspiracy and Bert kicking my ass in the game and stating more reasons for why the guy couldn’t have committed suicide. A lot of it sounds rather persuasive, actually. There was no mention of depression in any of the files Bert got his hands on. There were long-term plans for vacations and conferences. Finally, and a clincher for Bert, the guy had a gorgeous girlfriend and had just proposed to her.

“What are you guys doing?” I hear Mira’s incredulous voice from my left. It comes just as I’m about to deliver my theory of how the guy possibly killed himself as a weird manifestation of cold feet. Marriage can be a scary thing—at least as far as I’m concerned.

“Playing,” I say defensively to Mira. I feel like I was just caught doing something obscene.

“Did the doctor say it was okay for you to play that stuff?” she says, frowning.

“I have no idea; the doctor hasn’t come yet,” I say. “But I doubt video game playing can be bad for you.”

“That thing’s 3D screen gives me, a person without head damage, a headache,” she counters.

I can see what Bert is thinking without needing to do a Read. Hot and into video games?

I am impressed myself.

“So you have actually played before?” I ask.

“Of course.” She narrows her eyes. “Why is that such a surprise?”

“No reason,” I say swiftly.

“I’ll tell you what. Before I go find the doctor, I’ll play whichever one of you wins,” she announces, crossing her arms. Our eyes nearly fall out of our sockets as the move pushes up her cleavage.

I can tell that Bert’s and my thoughts converge on the same idea.

I have to win.





Chapter 11


I perform a combo attack, which consists of my best strategies. Bombs, boomerangs, sword thrusts—all go in desperation at the little Japanese creature on the screen in front of me.

The need to win is very strong, and I wonder if it’s some primal part of my brain wanting me to be the victor in front of a female.

Whatever the reason, I throw all I have into this next attack.

It’s futile, though. It seems like the prospect of playing with a real girl is a stronger motivator for Bert than for me. Plus, he’s already better at this than I am.

He blocks my onslaught, and then, in mere moments, manages to wipe the game floor with my poor character.

He ignores the sour expression on my face as I hand him the Gameboy.

Mira and Bert begin the game, and Bert is practically beaming with excitement.

I try not to sulk while I eat the pudding and Jell-O Mira brought me.

“Is Eugene coming back?” I ask when I’m done with the food.

“Yes, he should actually be here soon,” Mira says absentmindedly, not taking her eyes off the game screen. “I had him rent a car, in case they have my car’s plates. I want us to give you a ride once you’re discharged.”

Their game is lasting an unbelievably long time—causing me to think in dismay that she might actually be better at it than I am. I probably would’ve lost to Bert already. Unless my sneaky friend is toying with her, trying to make this game last longer.

I look around for a doctor or at least a nurse. There are none in sight. My bed is one of a dozen such beds standing in a circle around the large room. It all looks very dreary and makes me want to check out of here as soon as physically possible. I hope the bullet hasn’t done any serious damage to my head.

Most of the folks in here seem to be in a sadder situation than I am. There is a man all bandaged up like a mummy in the neighboring bed. Further down, there is an older person with an IV and a breathing machine. After a few seconds, I stop looking. In a hospital, you can easily see something you’ll later regret. But then something catches my attention in the distance.