The Seventh Day

The Seventh Day
An end-times novel by Graham Wolf





This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2005 by Graham Wolf
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And on the seventh day God ended the work, which he had done, and He rested...
Genesis 2:2

1. The Inner Controversy

It was true when the doctor said that life never turns out the way you think it will. This has become painfully apparent to Ransom Archer as he sits curled up behind a recycling bin. Life is that which is pouring through his consciousness like a trickle that suddenly and without warning turns into torrent. His memory is super-charged. It’s a common symptom of someone whose life has been put into jeopardy.
If someone had told Ransom a year ago that he would be in outer space hiding from terrorists today, then true to the cliché he would have called that person crazy. Yet here he is, trying to stop his hands from shaking, trying even harder to work up the nerve for his next move. He could hear the evildoers in the farthest dock yelling at each other. Hiding would not do. These were not like the careless security guards in the stories his friend, Ken, used to tell him, who would look for a few minutes and then give up. These men did not travel into the final frontier only to leave without what they came for. The leather bag Ransom clutched to his chest. Beatrice.
Small and fragile, frozen in time on the seventh day, Beatrice hid in a bag barely large enough to hold one of Ransom’s shoes. She is the hope of millions. She is worth easily billions. But to the terrorists, her worth is infinite. Ransom wasn’t sure if he himself also placed an infinite value on her. But of one thing he was sure, her life is worth a lot more than his. Beatrice could very well be the savior of the world.
Up above Ransom’s head was a recessed door to a shaft that was just big enough to crawl through. The shaft led to an airlock used for emergency maintenance access to the exterior of this particular module of the space city. If he could open the door, he could crawl through the shaft and into the airlock before the terrorists even found the shaft. He had a good feeling that the terrorists didn’t know their way around the station anywhere near as well as he did. If he disengaged the lock to the exterior door, then the safety lock on the interior door would be activated, sealing him inside the airlock. If the terrorists attempted to break the lock, then he should have time to put on a pressure suit, there should be one in there, and then he could go where they would dare not follow. Using a propulsion disk, he could take Beatrice and himself to an adjoining module where the terrorists did not have control.
Ransom reasoned to himself that he was no longer in danger.
He calmed down. He was still shaking, but not quite so violently this time. Ransom thought that if he were to go meet the theopathic terrorists and give them what they wanted, then they would leave. If he went out waving a white flag and bearing Beatrice, then surely, he thought, they would not harm him or anyone else. After all, these men were supposedly Christians. Either way, Ransom reasoned that his life was not in danger.
Yet Ransom was still paralyzed with fear.
This was not the same fear he felt when he entered the module. When he felt the explosion, when he saw the masked men and the guns pointed at him. When he realized that the impossible had happened, that terrorists had invaded the space city on Kilgore Station. The fear triggered a fight or flight response. Do or die. A burst of energy that made him temporarily indestructible.
This new fear was a dyke holding back a cold black sea of hopelessness. A gnawing caustic in his gut that threatened to kill him from the inside. It was like that feeling one gets when they walk out the front door in the morning knowing that they forgot something but not knowing what. Fear tied to something buried deep in his memory. Something he knew, but had forgotten. He felt paranoid. He felt that if he made the wrong decision, he would ruin everything. He feared for his life. Not for his physical body, but for his soul.
Ransom looked out the window across the room where he could see the blue-green sphere that contained all the joy and all the sorrow in existence. The product of billions of years of evolution. Although some say that the earth was created in just a week. But if that was true, then why did God stop on the seventh day when so much was left to do?
Maybe they’re right, he thought. Maybe the Rapture and the Wrath is right around the corner. So none of this really matters anyway.
No. Ransom must get to that airlock and do his duty. He must protect Beatrice.
But he couldn’t. Something was blocking his resolve. Something that he feared was holding him in his hiding place, telling him not to move. Was it the voice of God, speaking in a still small voice? He thought he didn’t believe in God anymore. Why did he contemplate giving the terrorists what they wanted? How could he possibly think about endangering something as important as Beatrice?
The evildoers stalked the corridors of the module. So crazy brave, and yet so cowardly that they wore masks to conceal their identity. Ransom’s life flashed before his eyes. Something in his memory was keeping him from action. A voice, a gesture, an idiosyncratic sign from a man in the past.
Then suddenly, it hit him. He opened his eyes. He was dizzy. His guts were turning and his head was spinning. And with a jarring epiphany, he knew.
One of the terrorists, one of the men behind the masks.
Ransom knew who he was.

2. Personal Armageddon

As his life flashed before his eyes, Ransom tried to remember how he got himself into this situation and why he has this particular state of mind.
Contemplation was the enemy of action. Why was he so hesitant?
Was God keeping him from doing the obvious? He was not a person who thought about God’s will anymore. He couldn’t forget the day that God became as good as dead to him. It was a little more than a year ago.

He’d come a long way from his parents’ tiny condo in CenFlo. A financial blunder had turned the couch in his parents’ living room into his temporary sleeping place. But Ransom was not the type to let something like that get him down. He remembered being happy then.
His parents lived rather close to the Baseball City Vacation Resort Complex, which gave him a conveniently short commute to the security department building where he worked as an officer. He was fortunate to be a full time employee of General Telepresence, a media company that owned practically all of Baseball, and the better part of all the hotels, theme parks, and resorts in Florida and the rest of the globe. GT was The Media Company. And as mentioned in the corporate pledge that he had to recite during certain corporate events, it was one of the world’s ten largest corporations. Ransom never understood why they bragged about that. There only were ten corporations in the world.
GT had an economy larger than all but three of the nations on this planet. One would think that they could afford to pay Ransom more than seventy-five dollars an hour. That was a little more than what’s considered a “living wage.”
A restless loser nearing the end of his youth. He remembers that in high school he wanted to save the world. Ransom was now satisfied just to save himself from life’s crushing ennui and still have enough time to drink beer with his friends. He had accepted a long time ago that if everyone was born with God-given unlimited potential, then most realities are filled with disappointment.

He remembers that on that day he received a call from his friend Ken while driving to work. His wristserver began to beep.
INCOMING CALL: Ken Cedars
“Hello?”
Ken’s voice came in over the speakers in his car. “Ransom, I need a favor.”
“Of course you do.”
“Can I crash at your place tonight?”
“Your Dad?” asked Ransom.
“He won’t stop hounding me to get a job! My mother almost called security because he shoved me and I shoved him back. I don’t know how much I can take of this. Everybody wants so much of me.”
Ransom rolled his eyes. “I get off tonight at seven.”
“I need, uh, another favor. Can you loan me a couple hundred?”
“You’re already in the hole to me for three thousand. Besides, I’m thinking of getting out of the interest-free loan business.”
“It’s not for pills, I swear.”
“Look, I get off at seven. We can talk about it later. Later.”
Ransom hated being bothered during his commute. Ken would understand this if that bum had a job. He would have a job if he could even keep a job for more than a month. But lately, Ken couldn’t even find a job. But when you steal from your employers, possible future employers have trouble trusting you.
There are advantages, perhaps, to maintaining a one-sided relationship where one friend is always getting into trouble and asking for money and help. At one time, Ken and Ransom had seemed so alike. They both had the same upbringing, attended the same church youth group and the same high school. In fact, they met when they were both caught skipping class by school security guards on the same day. But that was years ago. And the choices made; the drugs, the thefts, the refusal to conform had turned Ken into one person and Ransom into someone totally different. So he kept Ken around, if only to make him remember that there were people in the world much worse off than him. But Ransom could do without him if not for the nagging discomforts of empathy and Christian guilt.

That day Ransom was assigned to the parking garage back behind Fantasy World. It was a cakewalk post. All he did was spend half his time in the office watching the monitors, and the other half riding his bicycle around. And it was while he was riding that his wrist server began to beep.
GARAGE SERVER DETECTS POSSIBLE LOITERING VIOLATION. Level 3, North Quad. Vehicle information?
Non-urgent message:
Officer Archer, please contact Sergeant Anjou at your earliest convenience.
Well if his supervisor was being so nice, it must mean that he wants something. Ransom decided to check on the stragglers in the garage.
The security server for the garage uses thermal scanners and cameras to keep track of everyone in or around the structure. The cameras are able to capture vehicle information. The server is even able to recognize behavior that might be suspicious. For example, it notifies him if a person stays in one place for more than fifteen minutes. Ransom found a ‘28 champagne SUV with fogged up windows. Luckily, there was no problem, just a couple of dumb kids trying to get it on. “Aw, how sweet.” he thought as he banged on the window with his flashlight. He walked away and waited for them to get the idea and take their teen lust elsewhere.
No doubt there are some officers that would have had those kids banned from the resort. Ransom is not one of them. While he was waiting for them to leave, he called his supervisor. The Creole accented voice of Sergeant Anjou called out from his badge.
“Ransom, good buddy, what are you doing tonight?”
“Um, lemme guess. Working a double?”
“I just had someone call in sick, and I need someone to work the door at Matrix Quest. Thank you, sir. I would really appreciate it.”
“Uh, yeah, no problem.” Ransom kicked himself for being such a doormat. He sent a message to his parents asking them to expect Ken. Ken didn’t answer his call for some reason.

Doorman, gate, and turnstile duty were some of the most hated posts at the resort. Ransom didn’t mind doing it on a regular length shift. But on the last quarter of a sixteen-hour shift, the repetitive actions and the ache in his back were really starting to get to him. There was an audio loop emanating from the threshold of the Matrix Quest building that repeated every five minutes or so. Ransom had it almost completely memorized. It was almost time for him to take the second lunch break of the day. Instead of eating, he would go to the backstage area and sit down on the tattered old couch in the employee break room. He would melt away any of the good posture expected from GT Resort Security people. He would turn into a gelatinous mass and remain in that state for thirty minutes, at which time he would harden up again. The audio loop was restarting.
“Welcome to Matrix Quest, one of the hottest attractions of the Baseball City Tourist District, where you can experience the newest, most technologically advanced games and interactive virtual environments. Using sensor embedded smart rooms, and our suspended haptic interface suits, you can enter the world of telepresence, not just with your eyes and ears, but with your whole body. Haptic interface technology allows you to feel your interactions in the 3-D computer generated world. So it’s like you’re really there! Matrix Quest has its own broad-spectrum Net transceiver, allowing you to compete with players from all over the world in real time. Why not experience the fun? Feel the adventure, at Matrix Quest!
“It’s here! The fantasy action game of the year, adapted to haptic interface technology! Eternal Fantasy, new at Matrix Quest!
“You are Alonzo, the poor young shepherd chosen by the Spirit Elders for a dangerous mission. You must deliver the Eternity Diadem to its rightful place in the High Castle of Palladour. To get there, you must travel through the haunted Blackthorn Wood. With sword and magic, you must battle the zombie hordes of the vicious Lord Necron. Do you have the courage to follow the path of heroes? Don’t be satisfied with the quiet life. Use your God-given potential to save the world!”
Ransom was starting to lose it. The key to working all these long, boring, stationary shifts is to keep your mind occupied. An easy way to do that is people watching. You keep yourself sane, and all the guests think that you're observant and you really care about your job. He’d grown bored of playing the “would I do her?” game, in which he checked out a female costumer and decided whether or not he would like to have noncommittal casual sex with her. He decided instead to imagine the type of pathetic lives these people had.
What losers these people must be. What kind of dull, uninteresting life devoid of responsibility or challenge would a person have if he came to this bazaar of false experience, time and again, sometimes several times a week, to spend an inordinate amount of money playing with this stupid pointless high-tech nonsense?
A guest put his hand heavily on Ransom’s shoulder. A shiver went through his body that was almost like rage. “Hey, dude, I heard this place is cool.” This kid was looking at Ransom with a huge grin. The kid was obviously regarding him as his newfound friend in the brotherhood of man. Symptomatic of that shifted consciousness that comes with inebriation. Ransom thought of him as a kid even though the “kid” looked about as old as Ransom, who was twenty-five. “Dude, I’ve never been in this Matrix Quest place before. Is it any good?”
“Dude, it’s totally awesome.” Ransom smiled. He was a good actor and took a certain perverse pride in his customer service skills.
After getting back from lunch, Ransom got back to work. He greeted the guests and he asked random guests if he could check their bags, and sent a few people through the walkthrough positron emission scanner, and checked a few bags with the nano-sensor bio-scan wand. One kid was stupid and he dropped his stash when he was asked him to empty his pockets. He would’ve gotten away with it if the dumbass had just left it in his pocket. The scanner won’t look for drugs, only weapons.
Ransom picked up the little baggie. NanoContin pills. Little green capsules stamped with the letters “TERRA PHARMA--CF,” which meant that it was CF NanoContin. He tried to imagine the tiny mechanisms inside each indigestible pill. Tiny sensors hooked up to a microscopic computer that monitored heart rate, respiration, and other vitals as it pumped out a powerful narcotic one nanogram at a time. One of these pills would take you to a fuzzy wonderland for days at a time. And there was a ninety-nine percent chance that this clown had them illegally.
“Oh, man. Those aren’t mine.”
“Put them back in your pocket.”
“You see, my friend just had an operation, and he asked me to hold them for him.”
“Just put them back in your pocket.”
The kid finally realized that he wasn’t going to bust him. He put his chemical joy back into his pocket, mumbled what might have been a “thank you,” and ran into the building.
Nathan, the eighteen-year-old officer working the door with him, looked him a question. “Pain pills.” Ransom answered.
“Aren’t we supposed to report any possible illegal pharmaceuticals?”
Ransom liked Nathan. But he was tired, and the younger man’s candor pained him tonight. But rather than say, “I don’t care,” he shrugged his shoulders.
“Sergeant Diaz would be pissed.” Said Nathan.
Ransom rolled his eyes. Diaz was a part of a dying breed of security guards who had cop souls. The type who would always talk about respect and authority. His mustache was always perfectly trimmed. And the crease in his slacks was so sharp it could give you a paper cut. The word around the department was that he was much cooler before his son died.
“Gee, I wish my son would die of an overdose so I could be a prick all the time.” Nathan just stared at him. There, that shut him up.
Ransom tried not to let the Sergeant Diazes of the world annoy him. He just did his job. The parts of his job he felt like doing, anyway. He scanned some people, and checked some people. He did this whole act to make people think that The General Telepresence Media Corporation cared about keeping them safe. He cheerfully told the kids to have fun. And he meant it too. As long as the masses were happy and blissfully distracted, they would leave him alone.
It was a quarter to midnight when a loud voice emanated from his badge. “Anjou to Archer. Please respond.” He was startled. His badge only went audible when it was important. “Yeah?”
“Officer Coulantes is coming to relieve you. I need you to come directly to the briefing room.”
Ransom was cool when he got to the briefing room. He thought nothing of it when he saw a Polk County Deputy in the room with Anjou. The sergeant motioned him over to the media board. The lights dimmed, and the day’s assignments that had been written up earlier disintegrated into the life-size image of a man sitting behind a desk. “Hello, Mr. Archer. My name is Randall Wetzel. I am with the Bureau of Sin.”
The Bureau of Sin, formerly known as the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Cannabis, Narcotics, Stimulants, and Firearms. Ransom was starting to get nervous.
“Hopefully, this won’t take up too much of your time. I just have a few questions that I need you to answer. First, tell me, do you know what this is?” Next to the agent’s image, another picture appeared. A watermelon? It was a large green pill blown up a thousand times.
“Yeah, that’s CF Nanocontin.” Ransom’s larynx turned into a golf ball. He could not believe this was happening. They found out about the kid with the pills. How? Cameras? Did Nathan bust him?
“Mr. Archer, I’ve had a lot of trouble with this little pill in the last year. CF NanoContin contains an extremely potent narcotic called carfentanyl citrate, which is approximately ten thousand times more powerful that morphine. Before the invention of the finer methods of introducing drugs into the body, carfentanyl use was restricted to large animals such as bears, elephants, and woolly mammoths. Less than thirty years ago, Chechen terrorists took over a theatre in Moscow and held over seven hundred civilians hostage. The Russians tried to thwart them by pumping an aerosol form of this drug into the building. Federal agents killed all the terrorists but lost one hundred, twenty-eight hostages, all but two of them killed by the carfentanyl.
“Ironically, today CF NanoContin is safer than Tylenol. You can swallow an entire bottle of pills and have no adverse effects. That is, I should say, it was safer until some indulgent worthless addict somewhere discovered that if you stick CF NanoContin pills in the microwave oven, then crush them between your fingers and swallow the pieces; you’ll get a single huge rush of drugs into your system instead of a continuous release.
“The Terra Pharma Corporation has decided that rather than fix the problem and recall billions of dollars worth of product, it would be cheaper to settle the lawsuits with the parents of stupid dead college kids. They also get their lobby to put pressure on the government to do something about the idiots who abuse this drug.”
Ransom hated this guy for the lecture he was giving him. If he was going to bust him, why won’t he just do it? But then, the picture of the NanoContin pill was replaced with a cracked shard from smashed pill. The already enlarged piece began to grow even larger. He could see the thin black lines that would have crossed the length and width of the capsule. As the image zoomed in even closer, one could see that the black lines were actually microprinting. Soon, the microscopic line of data printed thousands of times over the surface of the capsule filled the length of the screen.
---RANSOM ARCHER 48002411725 GAS N’ GO PHARMACY 62644701, 02OCT 2029---
It was his name, his federal medical ID number, a pharmacy, the pharmacy’s routing number, and the date of purchase. Ransom was immediately relieved. There was no way a pill with that information on it made it into Matrix Quest.
“Mr. Archer, on October 2nd did you purchase a sixty count bottle of CF NanoContin capsules, along with a fifty count box of morphine dermal patches and a six pack of pharmaceutical strength endorphinated milk from the pharmacy kiosk in the Gas N’ Go on Bloom Street?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Do you know a Ken Cedars?”
“Yes.” Ransom grimaced. That idiot Ken tried to sell the pills that he gave him and he got caught. He will never forgive his stupid ass.
“Are you aware that Ken is a convicted felon and designated as a narcotics addict by a licensed therapist?”
“No, I mean, yeah, I knew that.”
“Did you at any time give pharmaceuticals registered under your name to Ken Cedars for any reason? Remember, you have the right not to answer these questions or request that you have an attorney present or telepresent.”
“No.”
“And were you aware that Mr. Cedars possessed pharmaceuticals registered under your name?”
“No.” For a moment, Ransom was worried whether the federal agent had lie detector running. Not that that could be used in court.
“Okay, Mr. Archer, that’s all I need for now. Thank you for your time.”
“Wait! I mean, what happened?”
Agent Wetzel’s cop face softened slightly. “Are you a friend of Mr. Cedars?”
“Well, I mean, yeah, sort of.”
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but right now he’s at the Seventh Day Hospital in Baseball. He was found earlier today, unconscious from an apparent overdose. We found your NanoContin capsule fragment in this bottle on the floor.” Another window appeared next to the agent’s head. The image was labeled “evidence.” It was an old vitamin bottle with label peeled off. It was labeled “death” in black marker. It was Ken’s handwriting.
“Is he okay!? I mean, is he alive?”
The agent answered, but then stopped, immediately regretting his choice of words. “Well, that would depend on your definition of, alive.”

3. The Superhuman League

Ransom caught himself. He was following the wrong thread of thought in his mind. This had nothing to do with Ken. Not really. Ken was beyond any type of help that Beatrice might possibly be able to offer in the future. He believed Ken was dead, no matter what anyone else said.
So why was he here? Why was he risking his life?
It was Jesse. If he had never met her. Even if he had never seen her. If he had kept himself safely separated from her by space and the simulacrum of telepresence, he wouldn’t be here.

Ransom blinked. When he opened his eyes he that he was seated at that familiar old desk made of crumbling particleboard. The days were longer here. From the west, sunlight reached through the gaps in the rough-hewn timber walls. He got up and moved to the window that framed the deep green mountains. It was a clear day. He could see summits as far as Honduras. Just twenty minutes ago, he was at work. Now he needed to unwind in his dilapidated mountain shack built on a coffee plantation somewhere near the border of Zacapa and Chiquimula.
“Server, patch me into Buddy’s Tavern.”
“Would you like to keep your personal ambience?” intoned a feminine voice.
“Yes.” Suddenly, a dozen people appeared in his shack. That’s not including the three ghosts that hovered aimlessly near the ceiling. They looked like plastic shopping bags caught in an updraft. There usually weren’t this many people here on a Wednesday evening. His shack was getting crowded. “Server, on second thought, switch to the forum’s default ambience.”
All went dark for one and three quarters of a second. Ransom was in a bar in EasTex. There was room to move around. It was always night here. Sunlight was replaced with neon adverts for beer. The stillness of the plantation replaced with a jukebox polluting the air with that Japanese cow-punk that all the kids listen to these days. Ransom quickly had that silenced.
A woman approached him, young, enormously endowed, wearing a wife-beater and some very short shorts. She spoke with complete enthusiasm. “Hey, Ransom! How you doin with your fine self, baby?”
He spoke without looking at her. “Brenda, what’s happened since I’ve last been here?”
“Sunday night was karaoke night. Lot’s of great stuff there. Brett and Angel did some classical videos, U2, Beastie Boys. Allison covered some new videos from HateFuck and The Dixie Ronin. Would you like to see some clips from that night?”
“No.”
“Oh! Yesterday, Rodney did this really funny comedy routine. He did this joke about a Jew, a Catholic, and a Transadventist on a desert island. It was really good.”
Ransom shivered. A few weeks ago, Ransom realized that Rodney was his favorite regular at Buddy's Tavern. The type of guy he would love to hang out and have a beer with in realspace. Apparently, Brenda has reached the same conclusion. And it disturbed Ransom that Brenda knew so much about him.
"Get lost, Brenda."
"Well! I know when I'm not wanted. But if you change your mind and decide you need me for anything..." she ran her fingers through the simulated hair on his simulated head, "you just call my name, sweetie."
Shiver.

Ransom looked around. Most of the tavern's guests were just standing still. Even though they were there, they weren't really there there. If he tried to talk to anyone, they would give a pre-programmed response and then act like they were hanging on your every word. But in truth, there was no one behind that digital representation. They would listen to what you said later, and maybe get back to you too.
He heard someone yell, "Totalitarian!" Ransom saw two people at the end of the bar arguing in realtime.
"Totalitarian!" Chris made snorting sounds and put his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. Chris was this kid from NoFlo. He had a higher than average I.Q., and he wanted everyone to know it, too. “Nazi Germany, The Soviet Union, Baathist Iraq. That's the definition of totalitarian, my friend. Get a clue!" He took a drink out of an oversized foamy beer stein. Everybody knew that that wasn't really beer he was drinking. He lived with his law-abiding parents. He was only seventeen and still had the better part of a year before he could do that legally. "The United States, along with every other nation in the world, except for a few holdouts in Africa, is a social democracy. Hopefully things will stay that way, because social democracy is the final stage of evolution for civilization, and any change would be a step backwards. Really, I don't see how I can have a conversation if you are going to take a word and then change it's meaning in order to prove your point."
Rich always used exaggerated hand movements when he talked. He put his hands out as if he were going to strangle the kid's avatar. "How can you say that this is a democracy? In a democracy, the people make decisions, not the corporate board of a handful of multinationals and omninationals! I will never cease to be amazed by American apathy and acceptance of the Corporate Hegemony. But I suppose it's easier for you in the States. Seeing as how seven of the Ten Corporations are American."
Rich was an older gentleman from Sydney. Around Buddy's Tavern, "older" meant over thirty.
"Anyone who wants to vote can vote. I plan on registering first thing my next birthday."
"You ignorant, naive youth. Politicians don't even hide the fact that they work for the corporations, not for the people. The Ten Corporations do whatever they want. Actually, ten is too big a number. The corporations are so up each other that it's more like a monster with ten heads. They are a government unto themselves. And who votes for the executives of these corporations? Unless you just happen to own a couple million dollars worth of stock, your vote is worthless."
Ransom pressed the mute button on the controller in his hands, so no one telepresent would hear him. "Server, shut those two up." He was neither in the mood to hear nor participate in polemical, political mental masturbation. Ransom has been known to take part in such conversations. But tonight, he was too well conscious of his insignificance in the grand design. A couple guys arguing about global corporate politics in some miniscule forum on the Net. They might as well be arguing about the weather. How about a discussion about movies, video games, or cookie recipes? Something that he could actually have some control over.
He turned away from the now pantomimed conversation. He saw Daniel Rodriguez walking toward him and he looked the other way. He quickly entertained the thought of turning into a ghost, even though he knew that by now it would be futile.
"What's up, my CenFlo bro?” Ransom had met Danny in telepresence where it turned out that by coincidence, they lived just a few miles away from each other, and unknowingly attended the same high school. Ransom wouldn't just form a friendship based on proximity. He did not consider Danny a friend, but a colleague. Or an acquaintance. Or whatever you call that loser you suffer because you feel sorry for his loserness.
"How's it going, Danny?"
"Two more days. I can barely stand it. Can you?"
"What? Is it your birthday?"
"No." said Danny.
"Um...Is it my birthday?"
"Ransom! Star Wars, Deluxe Expanded Edition, available on DNA-ROM in less than forty-eight hours!"
"Oh."
"Best two hundred bucks I ever spent. I could get the download for cheaper. But that won't be available till Friday, and I can't wait that long!"
"You can wait a couple weeks for hackers to break the encryption and then download it for free."
"I know I can't wait that long. Besides, this is the official definitive edition, endorsed by George Lucas himself."
"I thought he died." Said Ransom.
"No, he didn't. This edition has like, a thousand new fully autonomous characters, and a complete rendering of the Death Star environment. I bet I could spend weeks with this thing and still not get bored with it."
"Danny, why are you so excited about a damn movie?"
He looked as if he didn't understand question.
"What I mean to say, " said Ransom, "is that you should prolly save your money. You haven't found a job yet."
"But I need this for inspiration, for my own production company."
Okay. Here he goes with the imaginary film production company. Better change the subject. "So Danny, you still going out with, uh, that girl."
"No. I was hoping you could give me a ride to her house to pick up some stuff. Then we could hang out."
"I'm busy today."
"What about tomorrow?"
"I'm busy all weekend, Danny."
"Monday, then?"
Ransom gritted his teeth and relented. Monday it is. And no sooner than when Danny took off did one of the ghosts hovering near the ceiling float down to the bar in front of Ransom and congeal into a little gray cartoon kitten licking it's paws.
"You, Ransom Archer," the kitten began with a high squeaky voice, "are the salt of the Earth. No. You're the monosodium glutamate of the Earth. Agreeing to spend time with that poor unfortunate."
"Rodney, is that you?"
"Just cruising the fetish forums looking for hot chicks into furry cartoon bestiality."
"Yikes!"
"I have been checking in on my favorite forum, of course.” Said Rodney. “You were really rude to Brenda earlier."
"So?"
"So, you should try to be nicer to her."
"Why? She's a bot." Said Ransom.
"A sexy bot!" He rubbed his little cartoon paws together. "The things I could do to her with a teledildonics deck. Heh heh heh."
"You're sick, Rodney. But that's why I like you."
"I think she likes you."
"No, Brenda does not like me. She doesn't know what, like, is. She doesn't even know that I or you or anything exists."
"Well, I don't want to get all philosophical now. Besides, you're such a Christian, you wouldn't know what to do with a real girl as hot as Brenda."
Ransom suppressed a smile. "I'm wearing shorts right now. How's the weather up there in British Columbia?"
"Ah... fuck you." Rodney stood up on his rear kitten paws and stretched out his front legs. He grew, morphed, distended and congealed into the six and a half foot, slightly overweight, non-cartoon homo sapiens that Ransom knew and loved. "There was something that I wanted to show you..." He pensively took a drag off the joint in his hand, one of those cheap, vending machine brand joints that he likes. "Oh! Hey, you are into comic books, right?"
"Yeah, like, two or three years ago."
"So, you don't like comics anymore?" asked Rodney.
"No. It's not that I don't like comics. It's just that I feel like I've read the best that the world has to offer."
"Poor Ransom, only twenty-five and already world-weary."
"That's what I'm sayin. My policy is, anything less than thirty years old is not worth reading. And with all the emphasis on interactive three dimensional comics these days, most people have completely forgotten the original spirit of a great American art form."
"Um." said Rodney.
"And how often can I re-read the great classics like Alan Moore's The Watchmen, or Return of the Dark Knight? However... I have been searching for a copy of The Forever People."
"You're looking to buy a copy?"
"Oh no. I don't care about the dead wood and ink. I just want to read it. The Forever People is one of The Fourth World books. The classic series that Jack Kirby created when he broke up with Stan Lee and Marvel, and went to DC Comics. It's this..."
"Whoa!" Rodney raised his hand to stop him. "You're speaking a different language. I flunked American Literature one-oh-one."
"Okay then. What was it you wanted to show me?"
"It's a forum for people who want to be real superheroes."
"Huh? Well, that's strange and unusual." said Ransom without a hint of surprise. Because there is nothing unusual about finding something strange and unusual on the Net. It was sort of a hobby for Rodney spend hours telepresent in the Net, searching for anything that's wonderfully odd.
"I told them that I wanted to have super-orgasm powers. I would call myself Captain G-spot. They threatened to ban me from the forum."
"They sound like a bunch of jerks."
"Well, I'll let you be the judge. I thought you might get a kick out of it. They also talk about science, and technology, and shit like that. And the administrator is tasty! Her name is Jesse. Hey listen, Ransom, will you be telepresent for a while?"
"I dunno."
"Well, I'll seeya if I seeya. Peace out."
"Bye, Rodney."

“Server, take me to the Superhuman League.”
“Would you like to keep your personal ambience?”
“No.”
“Would you like to skip the introduction?”
“Um… no”
The Central American mountains melted away. Ransom was floating in the freefall darkness of space. He thought that the copious amount of stars around him was unrealistic until he realized that many more stars would be visible outside the atmosphere. Behind him were the earth and the sun. In front of him was an orbiting space city.
"Server, tell me about this structure." Ransom's server told him about the Timorese architect and aerospace engineering student who designed the space station. The proposal by the Australian government to build it as a national space monument was retracted, of course. So the two designers gave the administrator of The Superhuman League permission to use the digital construct.
He floated through a portal and found himself in a giant hall with high vaulted ceilings. The music in the background sounded like an old John Williams score. It was an old movie soundtrack that he couldn’t name, he just knew that he’d heard it a thousand times while working at Movie World in CenFlo. When he looked down, he saw that his feet stuck firmly to the floor. He wondered where the gravity was supposed to come from. All up and down the hall, there were statues in the recessed niches in the walls. Ransom saw that they were old comic book super heroes: Superman, The Silver Surfer, The Green Lantern, Captain Marvel, and his archenemy, Thanos. As the moving walkway in the center of the hall carried him forward, a feminine voice echoed throughout the gargantuan room.
“Since the dawn of Man, perhaps even before we became true sentient beings, we have dreamed of transcending the limitations of humanity. The ancients created the gods and heroes that inhabited their religion, what we call today, mythology. Immortality, complete mastery of the environment, and the ability to create anything the mind can imagine. These were the talents that belonged only to the gods of legend. In the modern age, science and technology replaced religious superstition, and mythology was replaced with science fiction. But the dreams remained the same. Heroes and gods are reborn in the pages of an art form originally created to entertain children.
The comic book superhero genre was never valued for it’s artistic merit. But the words and visual representations struck a chord in the deepest, most visceral dreams in society’s mind. Dreams that we mostly forget when we lose our youth. But with constantly advancing technology, these dreams may soon become a reality.
“The time is coming when man will realize the purpose of his existence on Earth, the evolution of the species. Using technology, man will proactively control mutation, adaptation, and natural selection. We will take control of our own destiny, and become a new creature. The day, the moment is near. When The Singularity comes, we will become more than human. We will become superhuman.”
The walkway stopped in front of a door marked with the letter "SL." The two feet thick, thirty feet high door slid open like a paper curtain. Inside was the forum, a domed pantheon with more niches and more statues. A young woman floated down from the ceiling and hovered in front of Ransom. At first he tried not to laugh. She was wearing thigh high boots and a really short miniskirt. She wore a tight top that left her midriff bare. The star on her chest was stretched and distorted as it mapped over the topology of her bosom. She also wore a cape draped over her right shoulder
Obviously, one of the prerequisites for becoming superhuman was transcending all fashion sense.
But looking at her, he thought that Rodney was right, she was tasty. He looked her over. She had a cute face, red hair and a great body. The only possible complaint he could find was that her legs were kind of skinny. Ransom had installed an application in his server that allowed him to look over a person's, that is, female's digital avatar while his own avatar appeared to be staring that female straight in the eyes. Ah, the wonders of technology.
“Hello, true believer. My name is Jesse Cohen-Moore, the founder and administrator of The Superhuman League.” Her greeting was way too enthusiastic for someone as unimpressive looking as Ransom. He suspected that he was looking at a bot clone. “I would like to welcome you to the forum, and invite you to check out the archives which contain articles, documentaries, and interactive files on all the exciting new research that may provide the tools necessary for humanity’s transcendence. We also have scanned pages of classic comic book literature. The Superhuman League is recognized by the World Superhumanist Organization and The Singularitarian Institute. Is there any way I can help you?”
“Uh, yeah, do you have any scans of The Forever People? 1970's. DC Comics. ”
“I’m sorry, that’s not familiar to me.”
And she calls herself a fan! “”What’s the purpose of this site?”
“This forum is a discussion place for exchanging ideas and possibilities concerning the coming transcendence of man into superhumanity.”
“Yeah, I know. You said that already. But why did you make this place?”
“Ask me later. I can't answer that question at this time.” Jesse’s robot flunked the Turing test after three questions. Ransom tried a different wording. “How did you profit, making this place?”
“I received an A in my freshman telepresence design class.”
Ransom smiled. Maybe this girl was more down to earth than she appeared.
“Can I see the forum?” The Jesse robot flew away and three guys appeared in the middle of the pantheon, two ghosts floated overhead. One of the guys was dressed in a full Star Trek officer’s uniform.
“Any of you guys know where I can find some scans of classic comic books?”
One of the guys, who looked barely eighteen, answered him immediately. “Why don’t you try a comic book forum?”
Smartass. “But Jesse said…”
“Look, noob, this isn’t a fanboy forum. We discuss superhumanist topics. We take it pretty seriously around here, despite our moderator’s obsession with teenager angst fantasies. There are plenty of comic nerd sites out there.”
The Star Trek officer, who up until this time had been aimlessly scanning with his tricorder, straitened up and began a speech. “I believe that social evolution is just as important as technological evolution in our ascendance to superhumanity. How can we become superhuman if we do not even know how to be human? We need to make hard decisions as to which values will be held as absolute, both now and in the posthuman era. We need to have compassion on those who are disenfranchised by our capitalist, corporate-ruled, new world order. Power corrupts. And the Big Ten corporations have power absolutely. They buy and sell politicians like commodities. They do whatever they want...” And he went on.

Despite poor first impressions, Ransom returned to visit The Superhuman League every week. As he delved deeper into what the forum had to offer, every week became every day.
The forum was a virtual paradise for nerds. And Ransom felt himself quickly losing any inhibitions against nerding himself up. The forum regulars were masters at hunting down cool stuff from all over the Net. Most of it was about science and technology.
CAT: BIO…LOOK! Giant Sloth Brought Back From the Dead…Biologists in Mexico City have announced the successful cloning of Megatherium Americanus… Learn More?
CAT: AI… LOOK! Robot Rock Star… For the first time in history, a song written by an artificial intelligence has been voted number one single on the Billboard Music Charts. Virtual Japanese pop star, Clint Yamamoto… Learn More?
CAT: NANO… LOOK! Virus Created by Assembler… Nanotech engineers have used a nano-assembler to compile a viable T-4 bacteriophage virus from single atoms. A breakthrough in the nanotech field… Learn more?
The guy wearing the Star Trek uniform, whom everyone called Data, was a master at finding links for new and exciting distraction. Ransom thought that his friend Rodney was good at finding interesting links. But Data was on a whole different level. Ransom would spend hours telepresent in The Superhuman League. Like any person with a new obsession, he wondered where this place had been all his life.
He had to admit, the idea appealed to him. Using technology to gain superhuman powers wasn’t just an adolescent fantasy, but the future of the whole race.
Ransom himself became a forum regular, though be it a regular who rarely contributed anything. He would participate in a discussion every now and then. He even got to know a few of the forum regulars. But Ransom avoided any heated discussion. He was new to the subject of Superhumanism. He didn't want to say anything stupid.
The Administrator, Jesse, was telepresent in the forum twenty-four, seven. Although most of the time it was actually Jesse's bot clone pretending to be her. He once went and asked her, "What is this thing you guys are all waiting for, the Singularity? I mean, I've heard the term before. But I never bothered to look it up."
"Very good question, Ransom! Are you familiar with the term, Cosmological Singularity?"
"Yeah. Well, sorta. I mean, I only have a strictly laymen's understanding of astrophysics." He laughed nervously. "It has to do with black holes, and Einstein's General Theory, right? A singularity is a point where the matter of a dead star becomes so dense that it's gravity becomes infinite."
"The black hole forms an event horizon," said Jesse, "a boundary from which nothing, not even light, can escape. Beyond the event horizon, the laws of physics break down, no longer apply."
"But that's not what you guys are talking about."
"Ransom, The world changes. Technology changes the world. And gradually over time, these change accumulate. Now imagine, just for the sake of argument, the technological progress of mankind represented abstractly by a simple line graph." Jesse spread her arms, and the space station disappeared. The blackness of space was replaced with white void. In front of Ransom, to his left, a thick red horizontal line marked off the horizon and ended just to right of where Jesse stood. "At first, change was slow. In prehistoric times, someone would invent a new and improved stone hatchet every thousand years or so." The perfectly flat red line began to curve up, slowly, almost imperceptibly. "As mankind evolved greater complexity in their social systems, they built cities, and civilizations. The changes became easier, and more rapid." The angle in the line's curve became more defined. First, just a few degrees. Then ten degrees. Twenty. Forty. " Today, thanks to automation, technology moves so fast, the average person has a hard time keeping up. Consider this example, computer processor power has consistently doubled every eighteen months, for the past seventy years. Technological change isn't just constantly moving forward. It's accelerating forward, at an exponential rate. So what happens to our line graph? A line that started out horizontal is now vertical"
Ransom interrupted "Oh! I remember that from math class. It's called asymptote, or something like that. It seems that technological progress becomes infinite."
"To us mere humans, technological progress appears to become infinite." said Jesse.
"Yeah, I just said that." Jesse didn't answer, so he went on. "But I see the metaphor. That point in time will create an event horizon, beyond which, the normal rules we use to predict the future, and probably even the rules by which we live life will no longer apply."
Jesse stared straight at him, silent for a few seconds. But before Ransom could get too uncomfortable, she snapped out of her massive brain fart and continued on. "Your comment is at least superficially similar to one the great computer pioneer, Jon Von Neumann made in the 1950's. The ever accelerating progress of technology gives the appearance of approaching some essential singularity in the history of the race beyond which human affairs, as we know them, could not continue."
"You know, I have heard of this before. I saw a video of a sermon by Claude Virunga, and he talked about this. But he called it the secular rapture, or the techno-rapture."
Jesse frowned. "I don't like using the term, rapture, or any other religious language when talking about Superhumanism. Mankind will bring about the Singularity on it's own by pursuing the three frontiers that will lead us to it. It's not something that we wait to be delivered to us by some invisible deity invented by superstitious bronze-age zealots."
"Um... okay. What are these three frontiers then?"
"Another good question, Ransom! The three frontiers are, number one, biotechnology. A complete biological theory. Full understanding of all biological systems, genomic, proteonomic, neurological, whatever. We will learn from these systems formed by billions of years of evolution, so that their design may be understood, copied, and surpassed.
"Number two, nanotechnology. The final limit of miniaturization. Engineering on a molecular level. Complete mastery of matter.
"And three, the most important, A.I. The creation of machine intelligence as powerful as the human brain. Once this has been achieved, then it is inevitable that machine intelligence will surpass human intelligence due to the constant increase in computer power. I believe that this will trigger the Singularity. Greater than human intelligences working on building even greater intelligences, sending technological change at an exponentially increasing rate. The human age will end, and the age of the superhuman will begin."
Ransom could tell that she had a passionate belief in what she was saying. He could see himself becoming a believer himself, though he wasn't near that stage just yet. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was just speaking from rote. "Jesse, is that really you, or your robot clone?"
"Robot clone."
Ransom smirked. If she's not sincere, at least she's honest.

4. Hate Vaccine

Once, Ransom went to the Superhuman league and saw more people there than he had ever seen before. About forty people standing around the forum. Half of them wee regulars, the other half were people he'd never seen before. A cloud hovered over the forum. Ransom realized that there were as many ghosts floating around as there were people.
Many people were arguing in realtime. Ransom spotted Data on the fringes of the crowd. He asked Data what was going on.
"Invasion." he answered.
Ransom rolled his eyes. The level of pettiness that people in telepresence will sink too has never ceased to amaze him. Why would people gather in groups and go to a forum just to make a nuisance of themselves? And Ransom wondered what a better place the world would be if people would just find better things to do with their time.
"It's another forum here recruiting for their group," continued Data, "a superhumanist forum called New Gene Nation. They've been spewing their idiotic memes here all day.
Ransom asked The League's server to replay for him the most heated of the day's arguments. Most of the yelling involved two people. A League regular named Aquinas, and a big guy he had never seen before, apparently from the other forum.
The big guy spoke with a low raspy voice, "This is typical. Typical follow the leader, herd mentality. You shout down and kick out anyone who doesn't automatically agree with your narrow world view."
Augustine shot back at him, "The reason we shout you down is because you are a bunch of uneducated hicks. All of you spouting off the same viral rhetoric invented by whoever started your stupid group. I'm sure that none of you have actually researched your views."
"On the contrary. I have a Bachelor's degree in Anthropology."
"Oh please." said Aquinas. "Anyone with an extra five grand in their credit can get a degree these days."
"I've put a great deal of research into founding New Gene Nation. I am well convinced that the best way for man to evolve into superhumanity is to use genomic research to improve man's breeding habits."
"Breeding habits. You're talking about us as if we're animals. Why don't you just call your beliefs by what they are? Eugenics."
"Well, I'm not going to sugar-coat things. If we research and try to find which human alleles will provide us with smarter, healthier, more productive human beings, then I'm sure most of these useful alleles will be found in Nordic, Teutonic, and Anglo bloodlines."
"Did everyone hear that? Does everyone see? I just want everyone to realize what a racist fuck this guy is."
"Would you sacrifice science in the name of political correctness?" said the Eugenicist. "There is empirical evidence that proves eugenics works. There is a group of people who have been eugenically improving their race for centuries. They've culled out genetic traits that they've deemed inferior through old-fashioned yet effective methods. The Jews have improved their own gene pool so that they excel in verbal and language skills. How else would you explain such a small minority having such a large influence over world media?"
Ransom had heard enough.

Ransom remembered when he was younger, about twelve or thirteen, he went shopping with his father at Wal-Mart, back when they still had Wal-Marts. Every time he went there, Ransom always maneuvered the shopping cart to a certain bank of self-checkout lanes where this cute customer service rep worked. She had black skin and braids, and Ransom had an obvious crush on her. His father was venting towards Ransom. He was angry at something some other woman, who also happened to be black, did or didn't do. He actually used the term "African-American" within earshot of the subject of Ransom's affections. Ransom was mortified. He wanted to crawl behind the display of Sam's Choice snacks and die. And for a few years thereafter, Ransom made sure that he wasn't seen out in public with Dad again.
Not that he thought his father was a racist, He knew that it was socially acceptable to use those crazy hyphenated-American terms back in his day. His father was just a product of his upbringing.
Ransom asked himself, could I have been an SS officer or a Klansmen if I had been raised in different times, different circumstances? He didn't turn out like those good old boys who lived in that same CenFlo trailer park where Ransom was raised.
Ransom considered leaving The Superhuman League. Avoiding it for a few days until this so-called invasion blew over.
But instead, for reasons that still remain unclear, Ransom followed a crazy impulse. He decided right then and there to stop the wallflower routine for once. He decided to argue. Loudly, and if necessary, belligerently, he would get his own personal point across. As soon as he decided what that was.

After reviewing the forum's recent history, Ransom turned his attention to realtime, and noticed Aquinas and Jesse were having a public argument.
"I don't see why you can't do something. Freeze new forum membership. Temporarily suspend everyone who joined in the past twenty-four hours. Something!" said Aquinas.
Jesse shrugged her shoulders. "I can't."
"The Hell you can. These guys are providing links to places that provide links to white supremacist sites."
"And is anyone forcing you to follow these links?"
"This New Gene Nation is an anathema. They are not superhumanists. They are specifically not recognized by the World Superhumanist Association. We have to do something to separate ourselves from them. They're bigots, racists. I even found a link posted in their forum that leads to a site that denies that the Holocaust ever happened. Aren't you Jewish?"
Jesse, annoyed, shot back at him, "I'm half Jewish. And that shouldn't make a bit of difference! In the past twenty four hours, no one has given me reason to ban them. I don't have to do anything."
"um, excuse me...." Ransom broke into the conversation with uncharacteristic rudeness. "My friend, Rod once came here. He was almost banned because he made a few sexual jokes. You won't even entertain the thought of banning these New Gene guys, but you threaten to ban him. That's bull crap." Ransom knew that his complaint sounded bad, but he was sick and tired of watching idly by while others made jackasses of themselves. He wanted to be a jackass too.
"Ransom, is it? Look, I don't know what your friend told you, but I can assure you that he was in no danger of being banned. I've never silenced anyone in my forum. I am a libertarian. And it would be quite hypocritical of me to run my forum differently from the way I want the government to be run."
"Oh..." Ransom didn't know what to say. "So, like, libertarianism. If it doesn't hurt anyone, it should be legal, right?"
Jesse didn't even respond. She turned back to Aquinas and took up her argument from where Ransom had interrupted.
Ransom was suddenly stabbed with feelings of embarrassment. He realized that this was his first time speaking to Jesse. The real live Jesse, and not her robot clone. He had seen the real Jesse speak before. But Ransom had never spoken to her, never felt the desire to speak to her. The administrator of The Superhuman League was good-looking and popular. Ransom didn't hate her for that. He just felt that with all the attention she received from the other nerdy guys in the forum, she could do without Ransom's. His feelings for her had been ambiguous. But now, with him addressing her directly, and her ignoring him, Ransom was filled with dreadful humiliation.
Jesse continued her argument in professional, unemotional tones. "...well of course I don't agree with what he says. How could you say that? His ideas of achieving superhumanity are complete nonsense. As soon as I get the time, I'm going to make an official statement of the forum's position on eugenics..."
"Hey! I think he has a point. Stupid people shouldn't breed." Ransom was interrupting again. Bothering this beautiful, intelligent woman, he felt like a twelve-year-old asking out his first girlfriend. Ransom's gut was filled with anxiousness. But he wasn't showing it.
"Huh?" Jesse was incredulous. Aquinas glowered.
"Uh, I mean, Stupid parents produce stupid kids. You don't need a degree in Anthropology or Genetic Counseling to know something so obvious."
Aquinas looked accusingly at Jesse. "This is what I anticipated. This eugenicist brings his virulent memes to our forum. The meme infection spreads and affects the least informed members of our forum. Not only has the damaging meme been spread, but we are complicit in the disease, because our forum is acting as a vector."
"Ha!" said Ransom. "What is this meme crap? You geek. Aren't you taking this pathology metaphor too far?"
Aquinas raged, "Why don't you take your idiotic opinions to the the New Gene Nation forum where they'll be more appreciated? We don't need your ilk here."
"I like this forum. I'd rather keep my idiotic opinions right here. I agree with Jesse. The eugenicists don't need to be banned."
"At least you realize that you're a fool. Now just admit your prejudices so that everyone will know to press their ignore button every time you open your idiotic mouth."
Ransom looked over Mr. Aquinas. He didn't look much older than Ransom. He was tall, like six-foot-ten, but really skinny. Yeah, thought Ransom, I could take him in a fight. "Tell me if this Eugenicist has said anything that can be proven false. If you want to dispel his virulent memes, just point out where his facts are wrong."
"It's all wrong."
"Oh. So there don't exist differences in average I.Q. scores between races? What about between nationalities? Or economic classes?"
Aquinas replied a little slower this time. "The studies you're referring to... that data is... irrelevant. Those studies belong in specialized academic texts. That data is not meant to be spread all over the Net, used to recruit those less educated into a modern day Third Reich."
"So what are you saying, Aquinas? Should the truth be banned?"
"No. Not the truth. Just the hate."
"That's awful ambiguous."
"It sure is." The voice came from behind Ransom. It was the Eugenicist. "It's good to see someone interested in the truth. Ransom, you should visit the New Gene Nation forum. There's much more to be said about the lies of political correctness."
"Yes, please." said Aquinas. "Visit them, right now."
Ransom was enthusiastic. "I really wanna get in on this eugenics stuff. Why should those money-grubbing, hook-nosed, Christ-killing Jews have all the fun?"
Jesse, whose nose wasn't very hook shaped, just stood there, emotionless. Aquinas was actually shocked into silence. The Eugenicist replied, "Ransom, consider my invitation withdrawn. We do not allow racist comments like that. If you wish to discuss the difference between races, you will do so with respect."
"So you guys don't have a libertarian forum where people can say what they think?"
"New Gene Nation has an urgent and well-defined mission. We don't have time for such bigotry, whether you were joking or serious."
"Then I'll just stay right here then."
The Eugenicist was ringing his hands. Aquinas was slowly smoldering. But what really caught Ransom's attention was Jesse. He couldn't believe it. It was just a small movement in her lips. But Ransom was sure that she had just smiled.
"Then stay here with those who distort the truth." said The Eugenicist. "Stay here with the egalitarians, the Neo-Marxists, the environmentalists..."
"Wait a minute. Environmentalists? Do you mean to tell me that you hate Mother Nature too?"
"No, you troglodyte! By environmentalist, I mean people who spread the fallacy that the environment in which a child is raised determines IQ, rather than heredity."
"Well then that's where you're wrong. " said Ransom. "I'm not going to say that heredity plays no role in determining a person's intelligence. But nurture is far more important than nature. It has to be."
"You've been brainwashed. The facts don't support that opinion."
Aquinas was now as still as a statue. He apparently had lost interest in the argument. But Jesse was listening intently. Ransom said, "I don't think so, Eugene. You talk about the quote-unquote races as if they existed beyond the culturally imposed differences and the superficial differences, like hair curliness. But down at the hereditary level, there's very little difference. There's more genetic diversity in a single troop of chimpanzees than there is in the whole world of people." Ransom spread his arms wide. "The Human Race is the most racially pure species on the planet. So in a way, we are all racists."
There it was. Ransom saw it. Jesse smiled again. The Eugenicist, however, was not happy. "You're so-called memes are nothing more than a program of dysgenics. The power elite improves their gene pool, while political correctness causes society at large to become duller with each generation. And my name isn't Eugene, it's Mark!"
"Well check your facts again, Mark. People of all races are getting smarter. Or at least better at taking IQ tests. The Flynn Effect, I believe it's called."
Jesse opened her mouth, as if she was going to say something, but didn't. Mark did, "You said yourself that stupid parents have stupid kids"
"And I meant it. Human infants are very dependent on their parents. Human beings are more heterochronic than any other primate..."
"Heterochronic!" Jesse interrupted him. "What a cool word!"
"Um, okay... Well what I was saying is, humans are more heterochronic. The rapid brain development that completes itself so early in the brains of infant primates, is extended for a much longer period in humans. And humans spend much more time under the care of their parents than do other primates. This allows for the inheritance of intelligence that's more, um, mimetic, rather than genetic.
"Stupid parents do have stupid kids. But you don't need a low IQ to be a stupid parent. There are plenty of otherwise smart people out there who are stupid, lousy, neglectful parents. It was a wise man who once said, stupid is as stupid does."
Eugenicist Mark had nothing more to say. He just stood there. Then he disappeared. No, "Goodbye." No, "Fuck you." Such a thing is strange in realspace, but people do it a lot in telepresence.
Jesse had turned and walked away. Ransom had no one to gloat over the pointless victory of winning an argument on the Net. He thought about looking for a comic book to read. But then he heard her voice. "Ransom." It was Jesse. He turned around, but she was all the way at the other end of the forum, talking to someone else. "Wanna chat? Step into my office."
"Where is it?"
"Straight up."
Ransom pressed the "jump" button on his hand controller. His digital avatar flew straight to the top of the vaulted ceiling. A small door opened up next to a light in the ceiling, giving him access to the upper level, which looked a lot like the lower level, only smaller, and with windows looking out to the stars.

5. Natural Selection

"Hi, Ransom!"
"Uh... Hi."
"I have been so busy lately writing my dissertation lately, I haven't had time to hang out in my forum as much as I'd like. So I leave my bot in charge. Do you like her?"
"Huh... the bot? Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's very lifelike."
"Thank you. I manage her neural net personally. I strengthen the subroutines that create a response that I think I would give. And I weaken the subroutines that don't. She's becoming more like me every week."
"Okay... What are you writing, Jesse?"
"Research paper comparing the benefits of running a simulated intelligence on machines that use traditional electronic and optronic processors versus running it on machines that utilize traditional processors with the addition of auxiliary peripheral qubit processors."
"Qubit?"
"Quantum bit."
"Uh..."
"Quantum computers."
"Oh... wow. That's really interesting. I think I read an article about that once."
"Come on, Ransom. I spoke with my bot. She tells me that you know almost nothing about AI research."
"Well, yes. But I'm willing to learn."
"Okay. But you don't have to act like you're interested in something you're not. I don't act like I'm interested in evolutionary biology."
Ransom was taken aback. He knew evolution pretty well for a layman. He knew more about said subject than most people he met. He'd read all the great evolutionary philosophers, Dennett, Dawkins, Gould, Bloom. Evolutionary Biology was his subject. But for Jesse's bot clone to realize it was his favorite subject, he would have to give simulated intelligences more credit than he has ever allowed.
Jesse asked, "So what do you think of my forum?"
"It's the coolest!"
"You mock me."
"No, I love it, Jesse. All the interesting stuff that gets linked here. That Data guy is a genius."
"Yeah, Data is a big part of this forum."
"He seems a little weird, tho."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, he appears to have mood swings. Sometimes he acts really different."
"Ha! Not many people notice that, Ransom."
"Notice what?"
"I'll tell you a little secret. Data is like a dozen different people who all share the same avatar. A group of superhumanists who meet privately and exchange ideas and links. I asked him, but they want there identities to remain private. All he would tell me is they are all professional businessmen who scour the Net as a hobby."
"So he's kinda like a gestalt, or a hive mind. Either way, he's still pretty smart."
"You're smart too. You're so quiet most of the time. But when you do talk, it's usually something worth hearing."
"Oh, I'm not that smart." said Ransom. "I just know when to shut up."
"And you're humble too."
"Well, blessed are the meek. That's what my youth pastor always said."
"Ha! What are you, a born again?"
"Well, I don't really make it to church as often as I should."
Jesse frowned. "Wait, you're a Christian?"
"Yeah... I mean, yeah."
"I'm surprised your still here. The mission of this forum doesn't seem to fit well with the Christian agenda."
"Christian agenda?"
"I'm sure you've noticed, I'm a pretty hardcore atheist."
"How can you be a hardcore atheist?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well either you believe in God, or you don't. I don't see how you can be hardcore about it."
Jesse brought one finger up to her elegant lips. She tapped her bottom lip three times, and then completely changed gears. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five."
"Where do you live in realspace?"
"Baseball City, CenFlo."
"Oh, that's where they built Comic Book World!"
"Yeah. I work for General Telepresence Resort Security. Sometimes they post me in Comic Book World."
"I have so been wanting to visit that place."
"Well, if you're ever down here, I could prolly get you in. For free."
"That would be so cool. So do you go to school?"
"No, I just work."
"So you have your degree?"
Ransom winced, "No. But I want to go back to college and get one."
"Oh, so you only have a high school degree."
He winced again, "Equivalency degree."
Ransom was sure he had lost her interest. Damn, she thinks I'm a loser. He despaired. But after some more lip tapping, Jesse floated around the room. She floated. Her feet never touched the ground, as long as Ransom had known her. She floated in a circle, around the room, and then directly in front of him. She hovered enough inches off the ground so that she could look him straight in the eye.
"I was hoping you could help me." she said. "I wanted to run my ideas by you before I write my official rejection of eugenics. I want my statement to have lots of ten dollar words, like heterochrony."
Ransom smirked, "Okay. Are you going to go with the heredity versus environment issue?"
"Not exactly. My point is not that eugenics doesn't work. Hell, I suppose it possibly could work. Neither will the morality of it be discussed. My thesis will be that eugenics couldn't possibly work well enough, or fast enough to birth superhumanity."
"Is superhumanity in a hurry?"
"Ransom, have you read the essay by Vernor Vinge?"
"No."
"Ransom! How could you have missed that? It's the meme that started Superhumanism. It's like our... scripture, for lack of a better metaphor."
Ransom shrugged, "I'm sorry?"
"Within thirty years, we will have the technological means to create superhuman intelligence. Shortly after, the human era will be ended."
"Thirty years?"
"That was written in 1993. Ransom, we're already years behind."
"And you're not willing to wait for generation after generation of smarter humans to be born."
"Obviously. But even if we had the time, it wouldn't work. There is an inherent limit to human biology."
"How so?"
"Well you said yourself that there is an incredible lack of genetic diversity in the human race. If the human genome is so homogenous, then how are we evolving?"
"Biologically speaking? We aren't."
"Biological evolution as we know it has stopped. It reached it's zenith with the human race. It can go no further into design space."
"Well that's one way of looking at it, Jesse. But even so, the human genome can still be changed through biotech."
"Biohacking? You want to biohack a human being? Now that's immoral. Imagine the horrors that would be created when the hacks inevitably go awry. No. It would be safer, and much much faster to establish superhumanity in a non-biological substrate. Consider that neurological circuits are seven million times slower than electronic circuits. When The Singularity comes, it will come through cybertech and nanotech, rather than biotech."
"So basically, I was just wasting my time when I took Intro to Microbiology down at the Community College."
"No Ransom. The study of biology is still important. We must learn all the mechanisms of life, so that we may understand them, and then surpass their design."
"Surpass their design. Wow, that's kinda scary."
"Life came about by chance. Superhumanity will come about by intelligent design. Why does that frighten you, Ransom?"
"I dunno. It just does."
Jesse crossed her arms and looked right at him. "It's because your mortified by the idea that God's creation can be improved upon." She turned and floated away from him. "Well don't worry, Ransom. If things get too scary, you can leave the forum. I'll respect your decision, I promise. At least you've showed a hell of a lot more tolerance than that New Gene Nation eugenics jerk. He was real annoying."
"Yeah... he was fat too."
"Oh, I know. I hate fat people. If he wants to go with his little group and selectively breed, then more power to him."
"Not that selective breeding is a bad thing." said Ransom. "Especially if it's with, like, hot redheads."
Jesse just stared at him blankly. He immediately wanted to take back what he just said said. Her face was unreadable. What the Hell just happened? It was just a little flirting.
But then the perfect mask of her face cracked, and she smiled just the way he had hoped. "Selective breeding? Calling it that makes it sound like hard work."
"Yeah, it shouldn't be hard."
"No." said Jesse. "Actually it should be hard. And big too."
"Huh... Oh no you didn't!"
She laughed. It was the most beautiful laugh Ransom had ever heard. "So do you like my fortress of solitude?"
"It's not very solitary if I'm here."
"Well, I sometimes give access to this room to, um, special forum members."
"Yeah?"
"Ransom, what I said before, about you leaving the forum. Well, I hope you decide to stay."
"Thanks, Jesse. I think I will."

6. Once Through a Glass, Now Face to Face

The only sound up there was the space station's air circulators and the memories rolling around in Ransom's head.
Ransom's father was a quiet man who never showed affection. He and Ransom didn't talk much, but when they did, his father would give advice. And Ransom usually found his advice too cynical.
One piece of advice; keep your realspace friends and your cyberspace friends separate. Don't confuse the two. If you try to turn a cyberspace friend into realspace friend, nine times out of ten, you will be disappointed. His father said that that was true even back when he was his son's age, and the Net was still mostly hypertext. But it was Ransom's prerogative as a dynamic young person to disregard the old codger's words.
Ransom now knew that his father was right. Or rather, he would have been right if he had used a different word besides "disappointed."
When Ransom met Jesse, he was changed, shaken, challenged, confronted with nothing less than the meaning of life. Before, his life was aimless. After he met Jesse, Ransom found his purpose. He realized what he had been wanting, been yearning for. Beatrice. It was everything he had ever dreamed. And if he could deliver Beatrice safely, he would not think it strange, the trials and sadness of his his life.

Ransom hadn't been in his mountain house for even a full minute before Jesse flew into the window. "Ransom, don't be a stranger, okay?"
"Hi, Jesse. Nice outfit."
"It's nineties week on campus. My mother sent it to me, She found it in the back of her closet."
Ransom noticed something strange. Even though she was wearing that silly retro outfit, instead of her superhero uniform, she still floated six inches off the ground. "How are you?" he asked.
"I'm good, except for the fact that I haven't seen you in like, almost a month"
"Yeah, I guess I needed a break from telepresence."
"Have you been working a lot lately?"
"No, I quit."
"Why'd you quit? I thought you liked theme park security?"
"I just have some things I need to work out, that's all."
Her arms akimbo, "Ransom, talk to me. Why did you quit?"
Ransom and Jesse had been friends now for half a year. He greatly enjoyed her company. Jesse had a strength of character that Ransom did not fully understand. Every time he was low, all he needed to do was talk to her to feel better. But he was ashamed. This was to much. He didn't have the right to pour out this much bitterness in front of her. She didn't owe him anything.
Ransom walked to the window and stared out over the lush Guatemalan valley. He didn't have the strength to lie, to put on a happy face and pretend that everything was alright. And she was offering to listen, wasn't she?
"Jesse, I just had to get out of there. They kept scheduling me to work at Movie World theme park. I told them that I didn't want to be there. And when they asked why, I couldn't really give a good reason. So they kept sending me out there. So I quit.
"Longest block of uninterrupted employment I ever had. Three years. I know, I'm dumb."
"I don't get it." said Jesse. "What's so bad about Movie World?"
Sigh. "It was Ken's favorite park. We used to hang out there all the time. We had dreams. We wanted to make famous movies. We made movies all the time. All kinds of goofy shit. The best movie we ever made was a two hour video called Son of Gump. It was based on that old one from the nineties, Forest Gump. It was pretty amateur. One watching it can immediately tell it was made by a couple kids."
"Show it to me sometime." said Jesse.
"Gimme a sec... There, I sent you a copy."
"So it's the memories? The memories made you quit. You were constantly reminded of your friend who died a month ago."
"He didn't die!" Ransom frowned. "I wish he were dead, that idiot."
"Ransom, do you think it's your fault? Because you helped him get his drugs?"
Ransom thought about it. "No." He thought about it a little too long.
"You shouldn't be alone now. You're not doing yourself any good by cutting off all your familiar ties."
"Why would I want to do myself any good?"
"Are you doing what you usually do? Hanging out with you friends? Are you going to church?"
"What? The Superhumanist is recommending that I go to church?"
"I just think you should do anything that will help you feel better."
"You know, " began Ransom, "I always conceded to your criticisms of organized religion I knew there were problems with the churches. But I believed they could be fixed. When Ken had his stroke, no one really cared. He used to be a member at that church. But all they could do was sanctimoniously shake their heads and make some jackassed comment about the evils of drugs. All the while they were drinking their caffeinated coffee and there endorphinated milk. They were just as cold and hypocritical as the worst critics make them out to be. I ignored and downplayed the evils of Christianity until it happened to a friend. Not until it was right in front of my face... I bet you think I'm stupid."
"No, Ransom. I respect your beliefs."
"Why? Even I don't respect my beliefs anymore."
"Ransom, Do you remember when we got into an argument about the afterlife? I was in a bitchy mood. I said that all Christians should just kill themselves. And you started talking about The Forever People."
"Not really."
"Well that's okay, because I saved it."
Ransom shook his head. He hated her habit of saving conversations. How is modern man supposed to forget the pain in their lives when our servers remember everything?
Jesse opened a video window. There was Ransom sitting on the ground of the SL forum, and Jesse sitting six inches in the air. The time on the video stated it was two AM eastern standard time, the morning after Thanksgiving. They were the only ones there.
Jesse said, "Don't you find it incredibly convenient, how the Christian memes can be used to manipulate people? The poor and dispossessed are convinced that they should accept their lot in life. Because it is God's will. Because if they behave themselves, they have heaven waiting for them after they die. Those poor bastards are gonna be so disappointed. Or actually, they won't be anything, because they won't exist in any form after the event of their death."
"I don't look at it that way, Jesse."
"Lemme ask you something. Do you believe that suicides automatically go straight to Hell?"
"No." said Ransom.
"Then why are Christians so dead set against suicides? I mean, I heard that Seventh Day Wellness has a policy of firing any physician that assists in a suicide. Why? If you're a Christian, then suicide seems like a pretty sweet deal to me. There are a lot of Christians out there who could do the world a favor by offing themselves."
Ransom exhaled, long and deliberate. "Hey, Jesse, are you familiar with The Fourth World series of comic books?"
"Yes. Jack Kirby wrote them before my mother was born. They're classics."
"You've read The Forever People?"
"Oh, no. I've only read The New Gods and Mister Miracle."
"The Forever People," began Ransom, "they're this group of teenagers from Supertown, which is on the planet New Genesis. Supertown is a post-singularity society. Their technology has made the into gods, superhuman new gods. New Genesis is a paradise.
"Now this group of bored immortal teenagers go to Earth. Why do they go there? Because they hear that this evil bastard named Darkseid from a planet called Apokolips is on Earth. And he has plans for enslaving Earth's people."
Ransom stood up and started pacing around the forum and making hand gestures. He wasn't sure what his point was. He was sure he had one, however. "Okay, so The Forever People want to stop Darkseid. But they're having trouble and they need help. Enter special comic book guest star, Superman!" Ransom raises a fist straight up in the air. "Now, apparently old Kal El has been depressed lately. He's tired of being a superman in a world of men. He wants to be around his own kind.
"Long story short, Superman comes and helps The Forever People save the day. In gratitude, they offer to give Superman anything they can provide. What does he ask for? Superman asks to go to Supertown. The Forever People don't like this, but they appease Superman and open an intergalactic portal to New Genesis. And what happens?"
Jesse cocks an eyebrow, "Um, he goes through the portal?"
"No! He looks through the portal. He sees this world with no pain, no death and disease. Technology beyond his wildest dreams. A world where everyone is superhuman like him. Superman watches as the portal closes and stays behind on Earth. And why? Because Darkseid and lots of other evil bastards like him are still on Earth, causing trouble.
"My point, and I do have one, is that Christians can't be anxious to get to Heaven. There's a whole world of pain and hurt down here. God in His infinite wisdom allowed the Earth to be this way. But he gave us the power to change things. When Jesus prayed the Lord's Prayer, he said, Thy Kingdom come. The ultimate goal of Christianity is not for us to get to Heaven. It's to bring Heaven to us."
Jesse closed the video window.
"Well thanks for the memories, Jesse. You know, sometimes I forget how nasal and dorky my voice sounds."
"Ransom, I loved that conversation. That's you at your best. I've never heard anyone use comic books to explain religion. That was awesome. I mean, not nearly awesome enough to make me a believer. But it was pretty cool, nonetheless."
"Jesse, comic books are for kids."
"Blasphemy! Comic books saved my life. They taught me to believe in the future."
Ransom thought about asking her what she meant by "saved her life," but didn't say anything.
"Ransom, how old were you when you became born again?"
"I dunno. Four."
"This has been with you for a long time. You are maturing. You're outgrowing the Christian mythologies. But you can't just tear the meme out of your head clean and simple. It's going to take time to work this out."
"I don't know." said Ransom. "Sometimes I just feel like getting in my car and driving. Away from here. Out of Florida. I hate this place."
"I know, it's so hot. I never got used to the heat in Miami. Isn't it cool this time of year tho?"
"When were you in Miami?"
"I lived there for a few years after high school. My parents have a house down there."
"Wait a minute." said Ransom. "Your parents live in SoFlo?"
"Yeah. I thought you knew that."
"CenFlo is just north of SoFlo."
"Um, yeah, Ransom. I know that."
"So do you ever go back to visit your parents?"
"Of course. I'm planning on seeing them in a few weeks over spring break."
Ransom stared at her, as if there was more for her to say. Jesse just stared back and was like, what?
"Hey, I've got an idea." said Ransom "I can visit you."
Jesse thought about it. "Okay, Ransom." She thought about it a little too long.

She hesitated when he asked to see her. This worried Ransom for a moment. But he waved it off. He applied for a non-employee credit account with General Telepresence. He picked up a few temporary jobs. He has something to look forward to in his life, if only for a few weeks.

He saw her in telepresence one last time before seeing her in the flesh.
"How was the trip from Mass, Jesse?"
"Okay."
"I've never flown before. What's it like breaking the sound barrier?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
Ransom received a text prompt from his server.
ATTN, RANSOM: your friend is apparently using an emotion filter app on her avatar. More information?
"Jesse, are you talking to me through a emotion filter?"
"Why? Are you using an emotion filter detector on me?"
"I'm sorry, Jesse. I do trust you. I installed the detector onto my server a long time ago and I just forgot I had it on... Jesse what's wrong?"
Her facial expression changed instantly when she apparently turned the filter off. She was the soul of anxiety. "I think that's it's appropriate that I tell you something before we meet." She laughed nervously, "I'm usually not this, uh, worried about it. I mean, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. But my appearance in telepresence is misleading. It's been changed somewhat."
It's not unusual for a person's telepresent self to look different than their real life counterpart. Whether it be a woman whose digital representation was twenty pounds lighter, or a forty-year-old male slob who enters telepresence as a sixteen year old female cheerleader. Ransom's server kept up to date information on his appearance and body dimensions. So his cyberself looked like his realself. Interaction through the Net requires a certain level of trust. So in Ransom's opinion, changing your appearance over telepresence makes you a sucky loser.
But Ransom was so anxious to meet Jesse that he was willing to forgive any false advertising. Besides, he was beginning to worry that Jesse was too perfect anyway.
"So what? Are you maybe a little bit bigger? Got a little bit of baby fat? That's okay."
"No."
"Your boobs aren't really that big?"
"Nothing that pathetic."
"You're not really a dude, are you? I mean, you do have a vagina, right?"
"Well, yeah, I guess."
"You guess? What do you mean, you guess?"
"God! This isn't going the way I thought it would. Ransom, you asshole, you play too much, you know that?"
"Ok, then just tell me, what did you change?"
"I didn't change anything!" said Jesse.
"But you just said..." At this point Jesse was hiding her face behind her hands. "Hey, look, it's okay, whatever it is. We're going to hang out, have fun. Hopefully, you'll enjoy my company."
She moved her hands. "Why are you coming here, Ransom?"
"To see you beyond virtuality. It's what friends do, right?"
She looks him a question, "Friends?"
"Um, yeah." He thinks that's the right answer.
"Okay," barely audible, "I'll see you Friday."

This time, Ransom recorded their conversation. He scanned the whole thing with a lie detector which, strangely enough, indicated that the seemingly contradictory statements she made about changing her appearance were both true. He had a semi-intelligent psychoanalysis app look over the the recording. It stated, "The subject is displaying normal feelings of anxiety associated with meeting someone for the first time after communicating with them over the internet for long periods of time. Case studies?"
Bullshit. Ransom knew there was more to it. There was something wrong. Something big, dark, evil, hellish wrong. Where did that come from? Maybe he was just a little anxious too. This was just feminine overreacting to something trivial. There. That's an answer that'll satisfy an immature young man.

On the way to Miami the interior door panel to Ransom's car just fell completely off at a rest stop on the Reagan Turnpike. He had an old pair of pliers in the trunk which he used to open the door from the inside.

Jesse's parents lived in a nice neighborhood. So nice that there was an actual human security officer at the front gate. Ransom's car server sent the access code Jesse had provided to the officer, who waved him through.
He arrived at the house and walked around back to the patio where Jesse was sitting with her younger cousins. When her cousins stood, she remained seated. She had on sunglasses, and she definitely wasn't fat. But she still remained seated even when he called her name. He walked towards Jesse and saw that she was in a wheelchair. Oh no! She must have hurt herself since the time he last saw her. Well I hope she's feels well enough to go out, thought Ransom.
It just then occurred to him that Jesse was a cripple.
He thought about turning and leaving. He then immediately thought of scourging himself for thinking such a horrendous thought.
He went to her. He wasn't sure whether he should address her standing, or crouch down to her eye level. He stood. "Hi, Jess."
"Ransom, how was your trip?"
"It was alright, except for my car falling apart."
"Your car fell apart?"
"Yeah." He knew that he should elaborate. But instead he opted for uncomfortable silence.
"Look, I know what you want to ask me." she said. "And the answer is yes, I haven't eaten yet, so let's go get something, I'm starved."
He smiled for the first time since arrival. "Okay."

They went to Jesse's favorite restaurant, a little Vietnamese place sandwiched between an antique book shop, and an electronics store that specialized in notepads. Between the past and the future, she said. Ransom ordered some shrimp and noodles, and Jesse got some vegetable rolls with a peanut dipping sauce. Ransom thought that the shrimp tasted kinda funny. He recalled that Jesse said that they would have to hurry because Mr. Tran closed the restaurant at sundown for Sabbath. Ransom took another bite and then realized that the owners were Transadventists, and that he was eating analog shrimp. Lousy Transadventists.

As they ate, they talked just as they would any other time they talked in telepresence. Ransom mentioned a new link that Data had found about trained felines with augmented intelligence raised in Russia. Jesse said she saw it and thought it was really weird. She mentioned the new comic book she downloaded, written and drawn by some Peruvian artist Ransom had never heard of. They talked about many things except what Ransom really wanted to talk about.

They finished their meal and Jesse drove them back to her house. She owned a late model two door manufactured by World Motor Company. But the impressive thing about it was it's custom installed robot brain built by Nippon Fullerene. A robot arm grabbed up her wheelchair after she transferred herself into the driver's seat. The car had para controls, but she didn't use them. "Drive home." she said. And the car responded with a beep before obeying.
Throughout the meal, Ransom had been agonizing over how to ask her about her disability. Finally he just came out and asked her. "Jesse, are you in that wheelchair permanently?"
"No, not permanently. I mean, yes, there is no treatment currently available that can fix my spinal cord, if that's what you mean."
"Is that what you were trying to tell me Monday?"
"Uh, yeah," said Jesse. "I don't, like, purposely deceive people. I mean, heh, you never asked, are you a disabled person? I talk to dozens of people about it in telepresence. But most of the time, I don't even mention it. I mean, why should I?"
Ransom nodded, "Yeah, I guess you don't want to be explaining it constantly."
"And people are so rude on the Net."
"Yeah, some people." He smiled sheepishly.
"Oh! I know you're rude, Ransom. That's one of the things I like about you." A moment of silence. "I'm sorry Ransom. I thought I would never see you in realspace. I should have told you. It's been seven years, and it's still hard."
"It's okay, I understand. It's just that... you think you know someone, you know?"
"But we do know each other, in the most important ways." she said.
"This is the first time we've met."
"We've known each other for months. We've met many times. We've shared our ideas, our thoughts, our dreams. That's what really matters."
"Are you saying that physicality is irrelevant?"
"No, not irrelevant. Not yet, anyway. Cybernetic interaction between humans has evolved in leaps and bounds. Consider how different things are from say, forty years ago, when the Net was still in infancy. With such an incredible rate of change, it may turn out that the most important relationships are digital. I believe this will be a growing trend as we approach superhumanity."
"You really believe that our virtual relationships will be more important than our real relationships?"
"What is real?" asked Jesse. "Obviously, some physical relationships are necessary. For example, the relationship between mother and child, that's essential."
"Until we become pod people."
"Huh?"
"You know, Brave New World." He smiled.
"Okaaaaay...But answer me this, Ransom. What brings more joy to your life, your family or your friends?"
"My family."
"Be honest now."
"Heh, okay, my friends."
"They say that you can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends. But isn't your choice of friends limited to the people around you? The people you work with? go to school or church with? The people in your neighborhood, on your block?"
"But there's no limitation in cyberspace." said Ransom.
"Hey! You're smarter than you look."
There was another awkward silence and then Ransom asked another hard question." Jesse, can I ask, how did it happen?"
"It was September 15, 2023. That's when it happened. I was at school. My junior year. Have you ever heard of See You at the Pole?"
"Oh yeah. Good Christian kids all over the country exercise their freedom of religion by gathering around the school's flagpole and praying for the nation, the school, their family, yada yada. It's a been tradition since my dad was in school. I did it every year until I dropped out." Then it clicked in his mind. "Oh my God. The See You at the Pole tragedy. That was you?"
Jesse nodded.
"It was all over the news. All those kids dying. They were your classmates. Those three students. Monsters. What were their names?"
"Their names aren't important." said Jesse. "They don't deserve to be remembered. It was actually a whole gang of kids. About ten of them who planned the attack. They were militant atheists who wanted to better society by thinning out the herd of brainwashed Christian sheep. They brought a few guns and a bunch of IED's."
"IED's?"
"Improvised Explosive Device. A fancy synonym for homemade bombs."
"So you were praying at the flagpole."
She snorted. "No, Ransom. I was skipping class. Oh, I was such a wild child. I thought that with all those students leaving class to go pray at the flagpole, it would be a good time to try and sneak out undetected. Boy, was I ever wrong.
"I was hiding behind these bushes. I was waiting for my college-age boyfriend. I was minding my own business and smoking a pot cigarette. Then I hear an explosion. I don't even have time to turn around before I hear a gunshot and feel something hit me from behind so hard... I can't even describe it. And that's the last thing I remember."
"So many kids died that day." said Ransom.
"Yeah, I know. I was one of the lucky ones, I know. Look, I don't want to talk about this any more."
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry, Ransom."
"No, I understand." He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back on her slender neck. And Ransom thought that she looked even more beautiful than her digital representation.

That night, they went to a bar. Then they went back to her place and talked until four in the morning. he crashed on her parents couch. They saw a play the next day. Ransom had a wonderful time, and he really thought that Jesse had enjoyed herself too.
On the way home to CenFlo, Ransom felt anxious. He told Jesse that he would miss her, and she just laughed. "Oh, I'll see you tomorrow." In telepresence, of course. Ransom thought that there was a possibility that he couldn't be satisfied with that.