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The Pressure of Ecstasy
by T. D. Edge
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The following is an excerpt from The Pressure of Ecstasy. "I don't think I can go on with it, George," she said. "We'll have to cancel the article." "Why, what's up?" "Nothing; that's the problem. He's exactly the way I remembered, before he . . . well, before." "So, Memory Net works. Isn't that what you wanted: to be with him again so you could lay a few ghosts to rest? With emphasis on the 'lay', going by the fact you look as if you haven't slept in days." "I only agreed to this experiment because you said I wouldn't ever move on until I'd properly said goodbye to him." "Actually, I said Memory Net would be a great chance for you to shag him a few more times, realise it wasn't as perfect as you remembered, then let some other poor sap have a chance at ringing your bell." "But it is as perfect. It's just that, I don't know, it's too perfect somehow . . . " George re-filled her cup. "Don't you think you owe it to our audience to see this through, to bring home the truth about Memory Net? So far, it's only been the rich who can afford it, but now the company's ready to—" "Drop their prices and expand their market; yes, I know. Soon, everyone can re-connect with their dearly departed, in their very own homes, to enjoy again the treasured touch of a partner and lover ... I've read their brochures." "So, if there is a glitch in the system, one that the rich bozos either haven't discovered or won't talk about, don't you think we owe it to ordinary people to tell them?" She sighed. "It's twelve years since he died. I'm scared that if I go back to that Memory Net version of him in my apartment, I'll never get away from it—him." "I think the real reason you don't want to go back to him now, is you're scared you'll actually find out what's wrong. What was wrong." "That's not fair—" "Just go back and find out what's not kosher with him, the system, your hormones, I don't care what. Just be a proper reporter and investigate the truth." "And bring you a hot article either way, of course." She stood. "You know, George, you'd be a pretty good father-figure if you weren't such a one-track pillock." "I love you too, Marian."
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