Whisperers Meet Up


Whisperers Meet up

Section 3: Another Chance Chapter 1: Whisperers Meetup



May 8, 20yy 4 to 6 p.m.


  • DellVille XSM EXtreme Social Media in Progress!!!
  • Today’s topic is “YOUR WATERY WORLD”.
  • Welcome all ye from CumuLinker Universe and the former Kingdoms of FaceBook, TwitterVille, Blog World, and Alpha-bits!
  • Forget your worries and party like it’s 2015.


Casey’s rubber-soled sandals squeaked as she walked down the faux marble stairs of the new luxury hotel. She smiled to herself, “It’s always pleasant to drop into the luxurious DellVille Renaissance Center for these technology-mediated social interactions.”


She was all geared up to exercise her Whisperer prowess with new conversation strategies. Her algorithm would skip around the room to acquire hobby data from other Whisperers and the CumuLinker cloud. New links would connect sections of the DellVille Social Graph residing on her home computer. This proprietary data trove might replenish those retirement funds lost in the Great Trickster’s Tariff Wars.


Recent experience with Whisperers at her OMG Reunion had been both exhilarating and horrific. CumuLinker’s model of silently interchanged personal profiles felt, at first, like a kindly third party introduction agent. But the misuse of a picture during a ‘Life Replayed’ panorama had brought calamity to the party spirit. Today Casey felt adventurous. A new Whisperer attachment had just arrived on a 30-day trial. The BodyReader promised to help her overcome shyness and social anxiety by nudging her toward compatible conversation partners. She might not leave this meetup alone.


A Greeter asked her to sign a gaily printed rule sheet.


“Oh, gag, so old school!” she muttered, smiling at a young dude wearing a lime green Polo shirt bearing the CumuLinker Universe emblem.


  1. You own your Whisperer. CumuLinker protects your data.
  2. Everybody’s social media profile is available to start those conversations you really want. No more going home to Google an acquaintance.
  3. Virtual reality glasses, watches, BodyReaders are permitted, but please do NOT record audio or video.
  4. Calendars and contacts will be loaded onto your Whisperer with this event’s data.


Honoring the meet up dress theme, she wore her Whisperer Like a name tag under her left shoulder. Its Baja Danzante Island Whisperer scene stood out well on her jean vest over a white sweater. The texture and aqua hues signaled affinity with ocean adventures among the islands of the now rising Sea of Cortez. Pods of dolphins leaped whenever that elegant chip on her shoulder exchanged profiles with a Whisperer conversation partner, spoken in gender-correct synthetic speech through their earables.


A sash bearing number 35 draped over her right shoulder. It signified daily residential water consumption goals for the community Climate Survival SIG.


Her group circulated among singles and clusters to promote their cause and gather feedback on their situation. Two consecutive snowless winters generated many debates on flushing frequency and irrigation rights. Decreased influx of retirees threatened DellVille’s City Council if deal making rumors turned nasty.


She observed how well Whisperers were generating the desired information flow. Brief snippets of position statements and online tweets were exchanged through hearables. “Did I hear you correctly? Do you really believe that?” often followed a position exchange. CumuLinker sprinkled each claim with a few intriguing facts to keep arguments impersonal.


However, many conversations degraded into old style sniping among those suffering from Trickster Derangement Syndrome. Casey tapped her Whisperer to correlate time-stamps with conversations about Fraud accusations, gun-toting water boundary warriors, and false rumors. Later, she’d — feed juicy tips to lawyers, ranchers, and news people.


Meantime, her QuantifiedLife BodyReader system sensed a similar awareness across the room. Its actuators gradually nudged her toward a shy smiling tall gent, rumored to be “the Canadian snow bird”. Casey felt sure they had been acquainted, or more than that. She couldn’t believe the co-incidence after over 30 years. Could that really be Gavin Hunter? Not yet ready to talk, Casey squirmed in resistance, not until her ulterior mission was accomplished.


Casey used a bathroom break to review her new persona as the “Computational Snoop for Hire”. She still needed some suspicious conversation to report regarding that never-ending murder escapade of the despicable Stockbroker. This occasion looked like a quick and easy $1000 exploration for new informants. The murder case sickened her. Imminent sentencing faced her client. Grisly trial testimony had analyzed plausibility of a golf club as the brutal murder weapon. The client — still spending his ex-wife’s insurance payout — hoped that some local golfer could be fingered as a suspect leading to yet another re-trial. He was desperate.


Her Whisperer’s spanning algorithm drew an on-the-fly mental diagram of links among golfers, the client’s family, and their business network. Several big spenders were identified with ice-breaker tips connecting to Casey herself.


She scanned the room for talkative targets. Amy and Bill from their neighborhood Association were showing off their new golf swings.


Slinking into their conversation, she soon exposed her ignorance of modern golf equipment. She related how her early teenage golf clubs were beat up woods and irons and, “well, she wondered if clubs changed enough to withstand any battering of a clumsy duffer like her?”.


“Sure,” quipped Bill, “the right muscles and aim by somebody like big strong Paul over there and a 3 wood could really tear apart an object at his feet.”


“Ouch,” she winced, innocently, “like that murder dominating the newspaper.”


With a strained look on his face Bill ducked off for another drink, suggesting Amy tell that interloper where to get beginner golf lessons.


Casey tapped her Whisperer to record profiles of these conversation participants. Animosity between Bill and Paul might be a clue to invoice on her way home, assuring that desperate client, a real bastard, would think her geek magic was his key to freedom.


Snooping completed, Casey drew into herself. She faced directly toward her long-ago love interest, Gavin. Their Whisperers connected. Her hearables’ voice dropped names of companies and places from the 1980s ‘Massachusetts Miracle’ period when their paths crossed. She recalled their conversations at receptions in the splendidly remodeled educational institution where the Software Engineering profession bloomed.


CumuLinker’s rendition of his profile alluded to the demise of his environmental corporate workplace, his professional descent into Nova Scotia coastal protection bureaucracy, and anonymously published novels about animal communities. CumuLinker noted his collaborations with her favorite writer, Margaret Atwood.


Casey assumed that her Whisperer profile updated him on her software consulting career after obtaining her Masters degree from this prestigious Institute. Thanks to CumuLinker’s ‘ long memories they could immediately confirm their factual identities and compatible professions.


After a pause, as their gazes locked on each other, each Whisperer reprised their sunset tour around and upon the Isle of Shoals. This tidbit that only they would know had been buried in the memoirs she mailed to herself for archiving.


The Danzante leaping dolphins on her Whisperer case were now behaving like tadpoles, reminding her of the Institute’s river-front location and on-site pond. Or maybe those images arose from the last tick of her biological clock.


The Cassandra in Casey held another warning. He slouched some from her memory of his 6’4″ frame. The Dementia Vocabulary Analyzer packaged with her BodyReader predicted another decade mental acuity for herself and this target.


Casey fell the warmth flowing from those blue eyes that often closed when his shyness took over. His hair, like hers, was not yet all white. Half a lifetime slipped away to reopen the senses of that magical year in their over-worked lives.


“Whew, serendipity is on my side,” Casey mused. She began to deactivate Whisperer controls. A tug on one decorative wire disabled Whisperer monitoring. Twisting the wearable’s Blue Tooth plug turned off its BodyReader communications. Flicking its bright center button stopped her programmed conversation managers. Changing from invisible to sparkling aqua, her hearables’ dropped like graceful straps onto her white V-necked sweater.


Her fingers gently touched Gavin’s sleeved arm, as they acknowledged each other with shy smiles. He patted the #35 scarf draped over the Whisperer on her shoulder.


“How about a walk to the pond?” Casey whispered to him.


“Walden?” he chuckled, “or Tyngsboro?”


And the memories flooded back.

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