By K. P. S. Plaha

Don’t believe the voices in your head

At the entry port, I wear the HAT (Haptic-Auditory-Tactile) with some trepidation because the city I’m about to visit mandates it.

It used to feel uncomfortable at first but it’s just another wearable now. Like the phone wrapped around my wrist or even a pair of spectacles — although the latter is getting obsolete with replaceable eyeballs. 

The part that annoys me most is the tuning once you wear the HAT. I begin to slide my hands around the head, much like lathering shampoo into the hair. I stop once the language changes to English, and the chatter to a low decibel white noise. 

Every so often, mostly based on my preferences, I hear a message or quote or a news item. I say mostly because there are messages you cannot ignore; not in the country I’m visiting. 

I am here to report on the latest outbreak. There have been so many of them recently that I’ve lost count. This one’s different though. What makes it different, and worrying, is the impact. More than a biological virus, this one manages to penetrate the network, and affect the brain. It is, to put it mildly, a psychosomatic virus. Hence the wariness about the HAT. 

The authorities assure you that it is safe, and that adequate precautions and security checks have been undertaken. The most frightening aspect is that once someone is infected, they can exhibit extreme behaviour including violence and cannibalism. 

Out on the street, the scene is sombre. People move about as if in slow-motion. Probably concentrating, or not, on the ideas being streamed into their heads. You could, of course, decide to take the HAT off but then you no longer know what’s going on: much like being stranded on an island without any means of communication. It can be unnerving. Trust me. 

The current plan is to crowdsource my report and I’m joining various forums and discussion groups to understand how, and where, the virus has originated. Most of the forums are in a dialect I am not familiar with so I rely on translations. Moreover, AI bots make it harder to filter real humans contributing to the conversation. 

Welcome to understanding the connected world. 

The voices in my head are beginning to form a pattern. As consensus is the only truth these days — I am beginning to get a sense of the virus and its origins. It appears to be attenuating in intensity, and weakening in the spread. So far, this has been the view of at least a billion different voices. 

Vox Populi. 

Sensing that I may be able to compile what I need quicker than I imagined, I look around with a mix of relief and trepidation. 

Furtively, I scan for public cameras and microphones and then walk into a nearby cafe as nonchalantly as my accelerating heartbeat would allow. It is dimly lit and once my eyes adjust to the dusky interior,  I make my way to a vacant table and order a pot of tea. I hope the steaming cup will help me calm, and think.

That is when I notice the young man at the cafe door. His silhouette startles several patrons. He weaves his way straight to my table and I recoil in my chair even as the voices in my head are reaching a consensus mean. He places a hand squarely on my head to silence the comms, and whispers “Trust no one!” Before I can react, he shoves a small envelope in my hand and pivots in place. Then, he’s gone as swiftly as he came.

Stunned, I tear open the envelope and the sound startles patrons around the cafe because paper went out of fashion a while ago. I wait for a reaction, pull out the sheet of paper and unfold it. It reads: ‘Don’t trust the head-comms. This virus is a declaration of war. Nobody is safe!’ The very real words scribbled on a paper appear far more persuasive than a billion virtual voices. 

However, the consensus in my head announces that the virus is under control. I am relieved until I lift the cup to drink, and a gooey stream begins to drip from my nose, into the hot tea.

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