Chris Walser enjoyed breakfast, not because he particularly enjoyed eating more than most people do, but because of the routine. His mornings were also filled with receiving data from numerous sources. None of which happened to be local.
He was 37, just over six feet tall, and his brown hair was just beginning to show speckles of gray on the sides. He had an average build but seemed to always be dangling between normal and slightly overweight. He’d been at the college for three months and was still oblivious to how most of the faculty felt about him. While his weakness might have been ignoring certain obvious things in his immediate surroundings, his strength was focus. He would have made the definitive absent-minded professor had his Memorite training not allowed him to maintain the discipline that kept him from totally ignoring the world around him.
Right out of the Academy, nineteen years earlier, he had worked at the Memorite Society as a TacCom input handler. He was one of a team of Memorites that would receive TacCom data from Memorites all over the world and process it for a response. He was especially suited for the job. He sat at a console with a TacCom strapped to each arm. He’d receive a transmission and would have to determine if it was simply data for storage, communication to another Memorite or data for one of the Memorite leaders. His output keyboard looked like a double Memorite touchpad, but due to the method used, allowed him to output data well over 100 times faster.
He found the work very satisfying. He felt connected to the entirety of the Memorite Society. From his console he could process thousands of requests a minute, so had a good grasp of the complexity of the network of Memorites scattered across the globe.
After several years as an input handler, he was promoted to the technology security division. His job there was to analyze the constant stream of requests for new or modified technology Memorites would request, to determine if they posed any sort of security risk to the Memorite Society. New methods of improving data transfer were always being suggested, as well as methods of widening the functionality of existing technology. More often than not, the suggestions opened security holes that needed to be caught before they became a problem. Chris learned from that period how to think like someone with malevolent intent. He loved the challenge and fell to the job with zeal.
Then, five years later, Chris was assigned a position he’d never even known existed. He was to investigate any rumors of Rogue Memorites. He’d always assumed, like all Memorites, that there were none. Officially there were none, but discrepancies in certain data had made the Memorite Prime Council suspicious. He was given full freedom to investigate. It seemed that while suspicious activities would pop up when he investigated they were always explained, but still seemed oddly suspicious.
Then several months earlier they’d received a message of concern from Todd Engstrom. He didn’t want to make any exaggerated claims but reported some odd activities he’d noticed. Chris was placed at the University as a teacher, a job he was well able to handle, being a Memorite, and quietly observed the campus and the community. So far he’d found nothing, but due to the source of the suspicion— a Memorite, rather than the unreliable observations of a non-Memorite—he remained and settled in.
Most Memorites orchestrated their morning routine to include some activity that would be conducive to efficient data processing. Routine provided the best vehicle for keeping the mind restful yet alert. Chris’s routine was breakfast. It was always the same. Two eggs over easy and lightly salted. Two strips of bacon, a slice of toast with butter, and a cup of coffee. He, like all Memorites also had a morning exercise routine. Some Memorites chose their exercise time as their focus time. Chris chose a strenuous exercise, racquetball, which took more concentration but burned up the extra calories of his breakfast. He generally left early enough each morning to allow for 20 minutes on the racquetball courts at the University.
But with breakfast— Chris took his time. Each item was eaten slowly and meticulously. The process was almost ceremonial. The inclusion of taste and smell in his routine seemed to allow more focus as his outer senses were occupied with the repetitious pattern. He ate almost rhythmically, as the data poured in through his TacCom.
He was down to the last bite of his toast and a few last sips of his coffee when the doorbell rang. The interruption was annoying. Chris took his time and finished his meal before heading toward the door. By the time he got there, the doorbell was already ringing again. It was hard for him not to think of the ringing as an invasion of his personal time. Therefore he opened the door with almost a scowl on his face.
“Chris Walser?” It was two local police officers. Chris’s curiosity overtook his irritation. What local event had he missed?
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
“Um...,” the officer looked fairly uncomfortable as he spoke, “We’re here to uh...,” he looked at his partner who also seemed uncomfortable, “well...place you under arrest for the murder of Todd Engstrom.”
That caught Chris completely off guard.
“I’m sure you’re mistaken. I would have received word had something like that happened.” But would he? Chris wondered. He knew it was best to trust the Memorite Prime Council, and they might have a good reason for wanting to wait to inform him.
“No, I’m afraid there’s no mistake. You’ll need to come with us,” the officer brought forward his handcuffs, expecting the usual question about their necessity. Then it occurred to him that a Memorite would most likely already be very familiar with police procedure and regulations, so it didn’t surprise him when the question never came.
“May I tidy up a bit before we go?” Chris asked, looking at the dirty dishes still on his breakfast table. He knew that under certain circumstances such leeway would be allowed. Would this be one? The answer would tell him more than just what he was asking.
“Well,” the officers looked at each other. They had no idea if Chris had done what he was accused of and were torn between the two possibilities. If he was innocent, they didn’t want to offend a Memorite. Their Chief had been adamant about the amount of respect to be afforded them. But if he were guilty, they had no idea what he would do to try to get away from them. All kinds of images of esoteric, possibly deadly devices crept into their imaginations, fueled by the abundant rumors about Memorites.
“Given the circumstances, we’d better just go on to the station. You can send someone back later to clean things up.”
Perceiving their quandary, Chris nodded his agreement. He lifted his hands forward indicating that they should put the handcuffs on him. They did so, gently, and then led him to the squad car.