Virtually His. Gennita Low
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here. Today’s phrase is: Can’t see the trees for the forest. In remote viewing, you depend on your senses, but overstimulation can cause the viewer to lose sight of the target tree. That’s why we allow no stimulants in your system as your mind and body learn to let go. An experienced remote viewer can bilocate with stimulants present in his or her system, but always remember, something new will always affect the senses, i.e. the forest. To counter that, you, as a remote viewer, have to learn to control your emotional environment. There are different exercises you can learn to overcome the times that you feel yourself losing control and getting lost in the “forest.” I’ve read your file, Miss Roston. We’ll start with something simple for you; no coffee for a few weeks. I see nothing humorous regarding your comments, but yes, sex provides chemical stimulants in your brain, too.
Remote Viewing Training Session Seventeen
In remote viewing, we train you to consciously move your brain into theta waves. Most of you are familiar with terms such as “higher state of consciousness” or “altered state.” You’ll have to work through your belief system to achieve this goal.
Once you’ve crossed this hurdle, you’ll find it easier to go into RV mode. An experienced remote viewer can remote view without outside manipulation at all.
In summary, there are four brain wave states that range from the high-amplitude, low-frequency delta to the low-amplitude, high-frequency beta. These brain wave states are common to the human species. Men, women and children of all ages experience the same characteristic brain waves. They are consistent across cultures and country boundaries.
Yes, Miss Roston, you can synchronize brain waves during sleep. It has been done successfully to induce group meditative states. No, remote viewing is strictly done alone, so we won’t be going out and having “fun together.” Sorry to disappoint you.
One
COVERT-SUBVERSIVE COMMAND CENTER
(COS COMCEN) Virginia
Did he really want this assignment? He was used to being asked to seduce, but never one of their own, and agreeing to do so would mean getting closer than a regular monitor and trainer. His fingers tapped on the well-used dictionary on the small table next to him. The word for the day was quintessence.
How appropriate.
Here at COMCEN, the quintessential element uniting all its operatives was danger. He’d perhaps been here too long, because now they wanted him to train the newcomer. Not just any newcomer.
If situations were assigned as some form of karma, there was no question that danger was his. He thrived on it, not out of necessity, but because it was what was natural to him. Danger called to him and he’d always answered.
And by design, if there was karma, then it always came to him in the form of dangerous women. Poetic justice, he supposed. Everyone had a weakness. He was one of the fortunate few who knew exactly what his weakness was. He again looked at the woman on the screen.
There was something enticing about a dangerous woman. He should know. He’d been married to one. He understood his inclination for them very well. They had the aura of toughness that he admired—and enjoyed stripping down. Their strength, intimidating to some men, was both sexy and challenging at the same time. It added an extra kick, knowing that the woman he was bedding might kill him in bed. It must be that poetic justice thing again, the secret wish to die while fucking around with danger.
His lips curled mockingly at the thought as he continued studying the screen in front of him. How could a woman everyone called Hell be anything but dangerous in and out of bed?
And he knew instinctively that sooner or later, he would be inside her. His eyes followed her movements, catlike and sure, as she went through her morning exercises. Even in a controlled environment, there was something untamed in the way she threw herself into the training. Wildcat. If they even made it into bed.
From the beginning, his reaction to her had been visceral. Any normal male’s would have been. After all, he’d watched her in training for months, watched her eat, sleep, drink, watched her take her clothes off whenever she went swimming in the pool. She didn’t like to swim with any clothes on, and he’d enjoyed those sessions, knowing that it was partly voyeuristic, partly because he knew she knew someone was watching her. Mostly, it was because of all the candidates, she had won. A woman who’d beaten out a bunch of men in mental and physical war games. He already knew that all the male operatives at COMCEN were curious about her.
She’d started her nude swimming innocently enough, and he’d enjoyed the undisguised pleasure of a woman comfortable with her body. He hadn’t forgotten that first time. Her hands carelessly unzipping her pants. Her long, long legs kicking them aside. And she’d looked at the warm water and a small smile had spread out, a glimmer of sheer abandon that had pulled at something inside him.
It’d caught him by surprise, that emotional tug. He wasn’t usually so easily moved. He’d had to stop himself from leaning forward, closer, as he continued taking in the sight of her slipping off her underwear.
He recalled that moment even now. She was impatient, as if she couldn’t wait to be free of the restrictions of clothing. He was equally impatient, too, in that male sort of way that was also restricted by clothing.
Her lightly-tanned body was surprisingly feminine for someone who’d gone through so much training. He’d caught a few seconds of soft feminine curves before she’d dove into the water. She’d surfaced with a small sigh of delight, sweeping her hair out of her face. Pure unadulterated delight. And that smile…he’d dreamed of that smile that night. He’d known it wouldn’t be there as soon as she figured out that there were always cameras at COMCEN.
The day had come. He’d felt the difference immediately. It was in the way she stripped her clothes, in the furtive motion of her eyes trying to find the camera eye. The interesting thing was, it hadn’t stopped her from continuing to swim naked. She did another unexpectedly interesting thing. She hadn’t gone to Kirkland, her medical advisor, or her any of her trainers. Instead, she’d asked the interactive supercomputer at COMCEN. He’d listened in to the conversation with interest.
“Hey, Eight Ball, am I being watched at this moment?” she’d asked aloud. “Besides by you, I mean.”
“Yes, Hell.”
“By how many people?”
He’d authorized certain information to be released. “One, Hell,” the computer had replied.
“Man or woman?”
“Man.”
“Is he my trainer, the one who’s been watching my workout every day?”
That question had amused him. He should’ve known she wouldn’t have bought into Kirkland’s explanation about it being standard procedure since she was now going into a new phase. She was smart enough to figure out that they had tapes and records of all her training since day one, so her asking now was for someone’s benefit. His.
“Sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of? What kind of computer are you anyway? Computers don’t say sort of, don’t you know that? It’s either positive or negative.”
But Eight Ball, short for “Magic Eight Ball,” a prediction-through-computation program, was a different kind of computer. His programmer wasn’t averse to adding odd little programs that gave his creation a unique personality. The result was a computer that frequently mixed up its language usage between that of a surfer and a robot.
“It’s neither positive nor negative as of now, Hell. So…sort of, dude.”
“Where’s the camera?”
“I have not been authorized to tell you, dude. Do you have the password for information access?”
“For a computer that’s supposed to be way cool, you suck, Eight Ball.”
He’d laughed at her reaction. But since