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To: NicknamedBob

I like the idea of teleporation devices. It would make travel a whole lot easier. Of course...I don't really want to be one of the first people to test it out.


40,925 posted on 11/11/2004 9:51:33 PM PST by tuliptree76
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To: tuliptree76

Don't mention teleportation testing to my brother when
he's up. He might think of something *sssss* creeeeepy.


40,930 posted on 11/11/2004 9:58:02 PM PST by Darkchylde (Resistentialism - seemingly spiteful behavior manifested by inanimate objects)
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To: tuliptree76; Darkchylde
"I don't really want to be one of the first people to test it out."

This one's perfectly safe ...


At the AIport ... (originally a typo, I took it as an Artificial Intelligence Port, and away I went...)

“Hello, Mr. Martin? Are you our ‘travel agent?’”

“Yes, Ma’am. I understand you want to ‘travel’ to Atlanta?” The exceedingly well-groomed agent smiled politely.

“Yes. What with all the problems with airlines, and other methods which are just so time-consuming and uncomfortable, we thought we would use this new system. Is it true that we won’t really have to move at all?” The rather heavy women seemed particularly concerned about too much movement.

“Yes, Ma’am, that’s true. Once we make all the arrangements about your appearance and destination, you’ll go into one of our ‘travel salons’ to be made comfortable for your journey. You will physically remain there for the duration of your trip, and when you end the trip, you will automatically be right back here again!”

The woman looked puzzled. “How does that work? If I travel there, won’t I have to travel back here, too?”

Mr. Martin did not change his expression at all. Smiling, he patiently explained. “You will not actually be going anywhere. It’s just like a telephone call. When you are visiting with someone on the telephone, you may have the feeling that you are right there talking to them. Of course, when you conclude your call, you find that are right back where you were before.” Mr. Martin could stand here, and smile all day. His feet would not hurt him, and his smile never tired. He resumed, “This works the same way. You will make yourself comfortable in the travel salon, and then you will put on your excursion suit. The suit monitors all the movements and positions that your body takes, and watches your facial expressions. Across the country, your simulacrum, or avatar, then duplicates those motions, feeding back to you the physical objects it encounters in the real world. You can travel in elevators, open doors, shake hands with people, even give them hugs. We recommend that you not try to kiss anyone, however. That would be unsanitary, and you wouldn’t be satisfied, either.”

“But how could I visit with people that way? They would be looking at a stranger’s face! My grand-daughter would run away from me!”

“Oh, no! Not if she knows what you look like. You see, your avatar will be wearing your face, and making the same facial expressions. When you smile, the avatar will smile, and when your picture is taken with the group, no one will know that you were not physically there.”

He continued, “This is our finest achievement! When you put on your excursion suit, your face and body proportions are mapped for producing an identical face on your avatar. By the way,” He said conspiratorially, “many people like to do a little touch-up here and there to shed just a few pounds or wrinkles!” He winked at her in a friendly manner.

She dimpled at the revelation. “Oh, that’s nice! I’d like to be able to take that home with me!”

Mr. Martin laughed. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. Besides, I’m sure you won’t want to spend too much time in the excursion suit.” He looked around, then whispered, “There’s no way to go to the bathroom!”

She laughed, and started pulling out her identification and credit cards. She was sold.

Mr. Martin relaxed. In a few minutes, he would be able to sit down on his stool, and stare at the reservation screen. Then he would stick out his tongue at it.

The avatar was not programmed to respond to that. His tongue would contact a switch that hovered in front of his face, and disconnect him from “Mr. Martin.” Butch was looking forward to it. Getting the helmet off so he could scratch his thinning hair was one of the forbidden pleasures of his job.

Of course, he could always hit the “Just-a-moment” switch, and get back into costume in about three seconds if someone approached the counter. All in all, it wasn’t such a bad job.

He didn’t even have to leave his apartment.


(NicknamedBob . . . . June 19, 2004)
40,939 posted on 11/11/2004 10:10:29 PM PST by NicknamedBob (My first book is out! -- You may need gloves... AuthorHouse.Com/BookStore, look for Hawthorne.)
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