July 22, 2023
I’m still working on “RANVEER,” a story about future robotic war. At the same time, I am working on a story, “The Meditation Machine,” the start of which is below.
The Meditation Machine
David McKinley Lowrey
Regarding the meditation machine, the first thing that struck me was how small it was.
Ten centimeters by four by two--that's smaller than my new cell phone.
I’m drawn to the sleek, the exquisite, the new, but who isn’t? The most avidly used new products from Celestial Cybersystems are those that fit in the front pocket of your shirt. And those that work too.
What everyone wants to know is what makes them work? What’s their secret? I’m the 35-year-old Product Manager for two of them: The Karma Counter and the Astrocycle Metric Monitor. Both sell, and why? Damn if I know.
About the Meditation Machine, there’s no clue from the fax sent over by R&D, which is as mysterious as usual. “New device that induces meditational trance.” Thanks a lot.
It’s Saturday and almost no one is in the marketing department. Leaning forward, I call up the product files on my laptop, then scan the list of specs and note that there’s nothing about the mechanism.
Directions: “Place against center of forehead. Turn on. Apply for five to ten minutes. Device automatically terminates.” Classy.
I gaze, then after a minute, I write three paragraphs of a press release. I read them back. It sounds like a release for a Star Trek tricorder.
Then I see the name on the specs. Jamal Singh.
“Dave?”
This would be my boss, the impossible Andi.
“What’ve you got for me.”
“Nothing yet,” I lie.
Andi is edging closer, trying to sneak a peak at my laptop. She sees the porn.
She gives me a once over, making a point of checking out my crotch. “Well at least we know where you mind is.” Andi is young and has a grinding ambition to get a vice-president’s job, an office with windows, stock-options, and maybe a limo driver. Poor kid. I’ve tried to steer her toward a more suitable career--like selling life insurance--but she will not listen.
Craning her neck, she asks, “How does it work?”
“The specs say something about inducing alpha waves.”
“Better get me something on it for the press release. Call over to product development and talk to Pratap.”
“The great communicator,” I quip.
“Who is Jamal Singh?” she asks, peeking at my laptop screen.
I blanche. “Nobody.”
Andi’s eyes enlarge. “I’ve heard that name.”
Covertly, I turn the picture of the turbaned Sikh on my desk down.
“He’s your guru, isn’t he?” A glow of satisfaction enlivens her face.
“Well…”
She reads off the computer screen. “Consultant for development. So, your guru has turned into a regular entrepreneur.”
“I’m sure there’s a good explanation…”
Her smile shows ultimate satisfaction. “Get me a release.” She turns and snips away.
