The Seventh Day

Inspiration

2006-03-19T18:01:00.000-08:00

No author writes in a vacuum. Every writer, every artist really, stands on the shoulders of those who come before them. For me to list all the authors that have inspired me through the years would take way too long, so i'll just list a few. I'll even link to some of their books that you're sure to enjoy. But in the words of Reading Rainbow's LeVar Burton, you don't have have to take my word for it! Ha ha ha ha.... uh...
What is there to say about Robert A Heinlein except that he's the master? My favorite "classic" sci-fi author, he wrote one of my favorite books, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, the story of a libertarian revolution by "Loonies," human colonists on the moon.
Perhaps the greatest living short-story writer, Harlan Ellison started the "New Wave" of science fiction in the sixties. I remember when I was a younger man, whenever I was depressed, I would spend the day reading from Ellison's voluminous body of bizarre and sometimes frightening work. Then I would be even more depressed. Heh heh. But seriously, great writer.
Kurt Vonnegut is a fantastic writer. Unfortunately he's also become a total douche-bag recently.
In the eighties, William Gibson came and started a new revolution with his cyberpunk novels.
In the nineties, Neal Stephenson breathed new life into cyberpunk by not taking it so seriously. Snow Crash is funny and action-packed, one of my favorite books ever. His other stuff is awesome too.
Greg Egan is another author who wrote some great novels in the nineties. I especially liked Quarantine, Permutation City, and Distress, his "subjective cosmology" novels.
I also like to read comic books, or graphic novels, depending on how adult you're trying to sound. Alan Moore is one of the best comic book writers out there.
If I had to choose one author who's had the most influence on me, it would prolly be CS Lewis. Not just his fiction, but also his writings on faith. The main character of The Seventh Day is named after the main character of Lewis' Space Trilogy.
Finally, last but not least, let me mention Cory Doctorow. He's a great writer, though he didn't really influence me because I hadn't read anything of his until I was almost done with The Seventh Day. There are a few similarities between his first book, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, and mine. Both books take place in a future Central Florida, both of the main characters work in theme parks. But those are just coincidence. What inspired me was the way Doctorow published. See, Doctorow is an activist "copyfighter." He fights against corporate abuse of copyright laws, laws that were originally designed to protect creativity, but have been used to stifle it instead. Doctorow published his novel, and all his other novels and short stories as far as I know, under the Creative Commons license, a flexible copyright that allows his work to be distributed freely on the internet, and yet allows him to hold on to some rights over his work, specifically where profit is concerned. Though print books, "treeware," are going to be around for a while, electronic media will be the future of books. I believe the majority of books in the future will be published under the Creative Commons license, or similar variants. So I got a jump on the future and published my book, The Seventh Day, under the Creative Commons license. Therefore, anyone who comes to this thread may click on one of those links on the right and read my book absolutely free. *HINT HINT*

My First Fan Mail!

2005-09-20T12:59:00.000-07:00

Everyone who's read my book so far has had nothing but good things to say. But most everyone who has read The Seventh Day so far have been friend and acquaintances. So their opinions are a little biased.

I was so excited last month I received an e-mail from a man I didn't know from Adam. He found my novel through my milblog, Graham's Journal. This is totally sweet. My first fan mail!

Out of idle curiousity I checked out your other log, "The Seventh Day," and man, I got to tell you, I was blown away. I was expecting to read just enough of the first installment to snort derisively at your efforts, and ended up getting totally wrapped up and literally couldn't put the thing down. I've been a big fan of PK Dick since High School (particularly his last 3x novels, and the whole Exegesis thing), and I was also reminded of William Gibson's "Neuromancer," and even detected a wink at Kilgore Trout I think. Anyway, whatever your inspirations I think you've transcended or incorporated them into something that is wholly original and clever, imaginative, and a damn pleasure to read.

Mark Dienstag
Brooklyn, NY

Thanks, Mark!

Go to Introduction.

Introduction

2005-09-18T02:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, and welcome to the official website of my book, The Seventh Day, an end-times novel.

The Seventh Day is an apocalyptic techno-thriller that takes place in the near future, a world facing the rapid changes sure to come from biotech, nanotech, and artificial intelligence technologies. The back cover of the paperback says...

In the year 2030, Ransom Archer, a medical courier for The Seventh Day Corporation, finds himself miles above Earth in a space city, hiding from armed terrorists who seek his cargo, a thing of great value known only as "Beatrice." As his life flashes before his eyes, he relives the events that brought him to his current crisis.

Raised an Evangelical Christian, Ransom was taught to believe that The Rapture and Armageddon were nigh. But a tragedy that befalls his friend after a drug overdose leads him to question his belief in a loving God. His faith is challenged further by his relationship with Jesse Cohen-Moore, a "Superhumanist" agnostic college student who also believes that the end is near, but with a very different idea of the resulting eschaton.

Struggling with doubt, Ransom must contend with an internal voice which may or may not be the God in Whom he has lost trust. Soon, he will have to make a choice that will have consequences, not just for himself and the terrorists, but many more. Perhaps the entire world.

The Seventh Day is my first novel. I finished writing it last year, and had planned to try to sell it to a professional publisher or show it to a literary agent. But then something screwed up those plans. I was deployed to Iraq!

I wasn't going to allow myself to be discouraged by my situation. And I didn't have the patience to let my book sit and collect dust for a year or more. So I made the decision to self-publish my novel over the internet.

A slick 255-page paperback with a color cover is available from the good people at CafePress.com. You can order one for $17.00 plus shipping.

I've also made my book available for free, yes FREE, over the net. My book is published under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike License. For more information on CC licenses, go here.

You can download the book as a PDF file, an RTF file, or you can read the novel in this blog right here. Readers who read The Seventh Day in blog form may also leave their thoughts on this book, or a specific chapter, in the "comments" section.

Feel free to e-mail me any comments you might have. I'd love to hear any comments on my writing.

Enjoy!

The Seventh Day

2005-07-25T05:40:00.000-07:00

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
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution, Non-commercial, Share-alike License 2.0
Under this license anyone may copy, distribute, display, or perform this work, or make derivative works, under the following conditions:
You must give the original author credit.
You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
If you alter, transform, or build upon this work, you may distribute the resulting work only under a license identical to this one.
For any re-use or distribution, you must make clear to others the license terms of this work.
Any of these conditions can be waived if you get permission from the copyright holder.
The full license can be found here:
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/legalcode

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

1. The Inner Controversy

2005-07-25T05:37:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-25T05:32:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-25T05:30:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-25T05:26:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-25T05:17:00.000-07:00

"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

2005-07-25T05:10:00.000-07:00

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.

7. Ask a Bot

2005-07-25T05:07:00.000-07:00

Once again, in Ransom's Guatemalan shack. "I seek audience with Hippocrates."
His server answered him, "Hippocrates is currently busy. You may have audience with him in approximately forty-nine hours."
"Can I speak to Galen?"
"You may speak to Galen in seventy hours."
Grrrrr. "How about Doctor Google?"
"Thirty-nine hours."
Ransom was impatient. He jumped over to The Superhuman League in the hopes of finding Aquinas or Guzman. Aquinas was a nurse, and Guzman was a Quantum Gravity Tomography tech. So Ransom hoped that maybe one of them could answer his medical inquiries. He would rather ask a bot. Even though bots lack common sense, their speech has the quality of being free from human bias and opinion. But today, Ransom would have to repress his introvert tendencies and talk to other human beings.
No Guzman or Aquinas. And no Jesse, just her bot clone. He couldn't ask Jesse-bot. It would be very awkward.
He saw Data pacing around the forum wall. Ransom hailed him and moved his avatar closer to his. "Data, any new links?"
"Um, no. What's up, young man?"
Young man? "Nothing much, Data. I'm just curious. Do you remember me?"
"Ah, yes. Of course. You're Ransom, I spoke to you a couple days ago, if my memory serves."
"Do you mean you natural memory, or your server's memory?"
He looked surprised. "What are you getting at, Ransom?"
"Well I've heard a rumor that Data is Legion. He's not one person, but many posing as one in cyberspace."
Data gave a quick low giggle. "Well you're no fun. Yes, it's true. The Data club is seventeen members strong. And I am perhaps the weakest link. This is the first time that I, personally, have met you, Ransom. This is the first time I've been to this forum."
"I've heard that the Data club is made up of successful professionals who want to keep their identity secret so that no one will know that they spend so much time goofing off on the Net."
Giggled again. "Well, I can't really speak for the other members of Data in regards to their motivations. I always think of Data as an interesting little experiment in gestalt intelligence. But you are correct. Most of us are successful businessmen. I, for instance, am a management executive in a hospital."
"You're not going to believe this, but I came here this afternoon looking for someone with medical knowledge. I have a question to ask. It must be fate that we met."
"Aha." Data frowned. "I'm a little reluctant to give medical advice over the Net. Why don't you ask one of the medical bots?"
"All the medical bots have killer wait times. So I thought I'd just ask one of the members of one of the smartest forums on the Net. I suppose I could ask my server to do a dumb search and look for text related to the exact wording of my question. But, come on, this is the thirties!"
"Yes, quite." Data squinted at Ransom. He appeared to be examining him. "You know, Ransom, there is a bot that specializes in medicine, and he's available exclusively to employees of Seventh Day Wellness Corporation. Since I am a manager, any request from me for audience is moved immediately to the front of the queue. His name is John Harvey Kellogg."
"Whoa! The dude who invented corn flakes?"
"Um, yes. But he was also the leader of the Adventist Health Reform at the turn of the twentieth century."
"And you will let me talk to him?"
"Yes." said Data.
"May I talk to him in private?"
"Sorry no, I can't do that. But it can be just you, me, and the bot."
"Sweet! Let's do it."
"Not so fast." said Data. "You have to do something for me. Answer my question, then you may have audience." Data waved his hand, and Dr Kellogg appeared. A short goateed man wearing a white suit and a parrot on his shoulder.
"Okay, what's the question?"
"When does life begin?" asked Data.
"Life?"
"Please humor me, Ransom. I am sixty-nine years old. but I have the eccentric quality of actually caring what young people think sometimes. My profile on you says that you're a twenty-five year-old Central Floridian. So answer my question. There's no right or wrong answer."
"Uh, okay. I assume you mean when does a single human life begin?"
Data nodded.
In realspace, Ransom got out of the chair he was sitting in and paced the room, careful not to bump into unseen realspace furniture. "Okay, let's examine the possibilities. There appear to be two arguments. One, life begins at birth. And two, life begins at conception.
"Saying that life begins at birth, that has always seemed so arbitrary and dubious to me. I mean, any mother can tell you about the moving and the kicking. It's obvious that the baby's life started long before birth. So why should a fetus be considered any different just because it moved from one place to another? And why should there be the distinction of abortion, if the baby is killed one day, and murder if it's killed the next day?"
"So. You believe that life starts at conception." said Data.
"No, not exactly. I think that saying that life begins at conception is equally arbitrary."
Data's raised his eyebrows. "Really? Please elaborate."
"Well, think about what happens at conception. The sperm and egg unite, and two different germ line genomes combine to form a new and unique genotype. A zygote is formed. A single cell that totipotent, able to become an entire new organism. This cell divides and multiplies and becomes a blastocyst, a small clump of cells the size of a period. The cells of the blastocyst are primordial. They're pluripotent stem cells that can become any type of tissue found in the human body."
"But this is not life?" asked Data.
"Only the most idiotic fundie would say that killing a sperm or egg cell is murder. But the egg and sperm gain no new intrinsic value once the two combine. Yes, the new zygote has the ability to become a human life. But potentiality does not equal actuality. A zygote can become a human life, but it is not alive."
Data scratched his digital nose. "Ransom, you say that the zygote has no intrinsic value over the separate sperm and egg. You don't think a new and unique genetic code has value?"
"Not really. Uniqueness does not equal life. What about twins? If life begins at conception, then where does the second life come from? Our genes don't determine who we are. Putting so much value on your genotype seems to me like a perverse form of Christian predestination."
"Well, I don't know know about that last part." said Data.
"Wait, there's more. Another reason I don't believe believe that a zygote is life, a zygote can be frozen."
"Frozen?" asked Data.
"This comment will prolly start an argument tomorrow. The Superhumanists have placed so much faith in cryogenic storage. But with current technology, as far as we know, a frozen human being is dead and gone forever. The vitality of human life, or the life of any higher order animal for that matter, has the quality of being unstoppable. Once a human life starts, it will go until death. You can't stop living when things go bad, and start your life up again at a more convenient moment. Life as we know it is bound to the hands of time. A zygote, however, can be frozen in time, indefinitely. And to say that those are human lives being held in limbo inside cytology labs all over the world, that's just false."
"Hmmm. Well you still haven't answered my question, Ransom. When does life start?"
Ransom shrugged. "You can't always look at the world in black and white. There must be a time between conception and birth when the central nervous system reaches a level of emergent order that can be considered quote, unquote, life. But I don't know when that point is. I don't think anyone knows."
Data squinted and examined Ransom one last time. "It takes a mature man to admit and accept that he can't have all the answers. I've been talking about this subject all day long at work lately. I wish that everyone was as open-minded as you. Ask Dr Kellogg as many questions as you like."
"Cool." said Ransom. "Server, create a private room for me, Data, and Kellogg-bot." The Superhuman League disappeared, and the two men and one robot found themselves standing on nothing in a blank, white universe.
The Kellogg-bot addressed Ransom immediately. "Hello young man. Did you know that the World Dietary Association recommends that you get at least twenty-seven grams of dietary fiber every day?"
"Uh, yeah. Fascinating. Here's my question. I saw someone earlier this week. A handicapped person, she was paralyzed from the waist down. Now when I was a kid, I remember watching this video of a famous actor who was paralyzed in an accident. He had recovered from his paralysis, and he walked, albeit very slowly, onto the stage of some awards show. Everyone was cheering and clapping and so on. Now I thought that paralysis had been cured."
"I thought you said you had a question." Said Kellogg-bot
Data interrupted. "Excuse me, Ransom, but I'm just curious. You're being quite conversational with this bot. It's probably best to just to ask a straight-forward question."
"Actually, sometimes it's better to talk to bots this way. Rather than just ask a straight-forward question, adding all this extraneous yet related information will force the bot to process things in more different contexts. It will conduct a richer recursive search and use more of it's neural net pathways. This way, it may look for answers in places I never even thought of looking." Ransom tapped his skull. "Bots are still pretty stupid. Sometimes we have to do a little bit of thinking for them."
"Hm. I've never thought of it that way. Please forgive the interruption."
Ransom turned to the bot. "So is paralysis cured, or not?"
"Paralysis is not completely cured." began Kellogg-bot. "However, a major breakthrough was made in 2017 in which successful treatments were developed in repairing the injured spinal cord. Before this time, spinal cord injury paralysis was considered to be permanent. The treatments involve surgically implanting a polymer and fullerene matrix into the spinal lesion. The implant is seeded with neural stem cells and Schwann cells, which are glial cells, or neuron helper cells extracted from the peripheral nervous system. The neural stem cells are obtained from the paralyzed patient through a bone marrow extraction. The stem cells in the bone marrow are cultured in a bioreactor and de-differentiated into pluripotent stem cells. The cells are then differentiated into neural stem cells. This is the preferred method creating a neural stem cell culture. However, in rare cases when de-differentiation does not work on the patient's cell, or if the patient requests it, a neural stem cell culture can be created using the highly expensive process of somatic cell nuclear transfer. In cases..."
"Cloning." said Ransom.
"Ah, yes. Somatic cell nuclear transfer is a method of cloning. However..."
"Look, bot, just tell me why some people cannot be treated."
"Researchers have found great difficulty treating spinal lesions caused by neural tube birth defects. Also, there appears to be a barrier to treatment dependent on the size of the spinal lesion. If the lesion is around three inches, or larger, axonal regeneration cannot take place across the entire length of the lesion. Scientists have speculated that it is impossible to regenerate large sections of the spine using current treatment methods..."
"Why?"
"The spinal cord, in fact, the entire central nervous system is an extremely dense and complex tissue, highly specialized and differentiated for the job it performs. It is theorized that new axons cannot bridge a long gap because the complex idiosyncratic structure lost through injury cannot be spontaneously regenerated from the structure remaining on either side of the lesion."
"Impossible?" said Ransom. "Kinda like rewriting a computer app after a crucial hunk of code has been erased. Or trying to make sense out of Hamlet after someone has ripped act two out of your book."
"I don't know if that metaphor applies to this situation." said Dr. Kellogg.
"Okay, whatever. Just tell me, are there any ideas of how to fix this?"
"Most experts say that more research needs to be done into cellular therapy. And one corporation that has made consistent progress in the field of cellular therapy is The Seventh Day Wellness Corporation, where they not only take an aggressive approach to finding healing innovations, they do so in an ethical manner, with respect to God's creation."
Ransom turned to Data. "You're bot is a corporate whore."
Data shrugged. "He answered your questions to the best of his capacity. And we all have bills to pay."

8. The Seventh Day Corporation

2005-07-25T05:06:00.000-07:00

SDW. Big block letters at the top of his badge that stood for Seventh Day Wellness, of course, next to the corporate insignia, three sevens arranged around a circle. Below that, his picture. And below that, his identification.
Archer, Ransom; Medical Courier; Class G (Armed)
As far as the denizens and guests of Cosmopolis, as well as the terrorists who invade it go, it was Ransom's whole existence and purpose rapped up in one short line of data.
But Ransom did have a duty. He had the responsibility of answering to his employers. A threat that was much more tangible than having to answer to the possible millions who could benefit from Beatrice.
Worrying about whether he would be fired was a crude motivation. Especially for someone who has quit, and been fired as many times as Ransom. He mustn't forget the reason he left the world's largest media corporation to work for the the world's largest health care organization. He wanted to help people.
He wanted to help Jesse.

Ransom was cruising east on the highway. It was a nice day, not too hot. He was taking the short trip from Baseball to downtown Orlando to apply for a job. He could have applied in Baseball City, but he hadn't seen the big city in a while. He figured he could walk around a bit after he spoke to the human resources people. Ransom had never seen the Seventh Day headquarters up close before.
Thankfully, there were no traffic jams. His fuel cells had been acting up lately, and he'd hate to overheat. He passed the county line and could already see the massive towers casting shadows miles long. The skyline of Orlando had many mega-towers built by at least eight of the Big Ten Corporations, including a regional headquarters, and a world headquarters.
The most striking example of skyscraping was the 220 story Nippon Fullerene Building. The soaring monument to Japanese ingenuity was similar to thirty-two other buildings owned by NF planted all over North America. It's girders were made of carbon nanotube composite compiled one atom at a time. The southeastern regional corporate headquarters of General Telepresence was housed in a giant Fuller-dome. It was a larger version of the old EPCOT dome, built in honor of the tourist attraction that was destroyed by terrorists seventeen years ago. Ransom remembered when he was a little kid, driving with his mother long ago. She told him it was God's golf ball.
His destination dominated the skyline. Three huge 200 story towers, one for each member of The Trinity. Ransom thought that he could see one of the parabolic dishes that deflects test fires from graser weapons mounted onto the US Space Guard Defense Satellites that patrol the skies and protect large buildings.
He pulled into the parking garage. His wrist-server chimed as twenty dollars was taken out of his credit account. The security guard at the entrance waved at Ransom and pointed at the small amount of steam coming from under the hood of Ransom's car. He said thank you and smiled to hide his annoyance. He appreciated other people looking out for him. But did they really think him so ignorant as to not notice steam billowing out from his own car?
Ransom walked up to street level. He thought about whether he'd be doing what that parking attendant is doing now if he was hired. How fun. Whatever. A job is a job.
He walked past a bunch of restaurants, all of them vegetarian. He would have to go at least six blocks to get out of Seventh Day territory and get some real food. A swarthy fat guy wearing an Orlando baseball cap was selling analog hot dogs from a cart on the corner. The dogs were made of a "genetically enhanced" fungus. No thank you.
Ransom found himself staring at the awesome sight of the triplet towers. Ambulatory hovercraft were coasting in and out of the tower farthest away from him, tower three, which held the third largest hospital in the country. He stopped gawking when he noticed a family of Hindu tourists doing the exact same thing. Ransom looked at his feet and saw a plaque set into the ground just a few meters from the largest fountain he had ever see. It read;
Seventh Day Wellness Corporation
World Headquarters
Dedicated this day, December 25, 2025
For the glory of God.

The lobby was gigantic, and the inside was a zoo. Literally. Many animals that were at one time considered endangered or even extinct roamed freely in the partitioned biosphere. Ransom spotted a group of very sick looking people in wheelchairs sitting underneath two nude statues, which he assumed represented Adam and Eve. They were watching Florida panther cubs play in the dirt. According to the display at the entrance to the lobby, the natural oasis in the middle of the urban jungle was built to lift the spirits of the patients and strengthen their psychoimmunological response, with supposedly quantifiable results. Ransom saw his reflection in the partition and checked his tie,

He made his way to Human Resources. He talked to a bot interviewer who all but hired him save for the formality of shaking hands with a flesh and blood corporate officer.
"Mr Archer, please sit down." The HR manager had a West Indian accent that Ransom couldn't quite place. Maybe Trinidadian. "Let's see. You've applied for a job as a security and safety officer, and an entry-level bioreactor technician. Tell me why you want a job in the cytology labs."
"I understand that this place has one of the most advanced cytology labs in the world." said Ransom. "I'm really interested in cytology. I took Intro to Microbiology in college and I got an A."
"Yes. Well a bioreactor tech performs the day to day maintenance on the bioreactors. Cleaning them, prepping them, and monitoring the active reactors producing cell cultures, tissues, and organs for transplant. It's not a hard job. But you need certification for that particular job which you don't have. So I'm sorry, but I can get you a job in the Security and Safety Department."
"But I've researched this job." said Ransom. "You guys have this program that offers on the job training and pays for bioreactor tech certification for qualified applicants."
The interviewer looked confused for a moment. "Oh yes. I forgot about that. We do have a program of on the job training. Um... but we only offer the program to a few applicants each year. And we may have filled the quota this year. I'll have to check on that. But I will tell you, the selection process is very rigorous."
Ransom was already becoming discouraged. "Well what do I need to do to make myself more likely to be selected? Convert to Transadventism?"
The interviewer laughed abruptly. "I do hope you're joking. Seventh Day Corporation has a policy of separation of Church and Company. I could be reprimanded for simply suggesting such a thing. I mean, becoming a convert couldn't hurt. But you could get in big trouble."
"With who? The church?"
"No. With God. I have been a Transadventist for years now. I go to service every Saturday. But that means nothing in the eyes of God." The interviewer crossed his arms and frowned. "The only reason a man should convert is if he is being lead by the Spirit."
"Uh... I was only joking."
"With your permission, I would like to check your academic records."
"Yeah, no problem." said Ransom.
The interviewer pulled a scroll notebook out of his desk. He unrolled it and asked his server to retrieve Ransom's records from the Net and display them on the notebook. "Well, your grades are very impressive. Um, did you drop out of college?"
"Yeah. I was having some problems and I had to take a break from school."
"What kind of problems?"
"Personal problems." answered Ransom.
"Your academic record has several interruptions."
"Well, I had to take a few breaks."
"No wonder you couldn't finish your degree." The interviewer continued to stare at the notebook while making a low humming noise. "You also have several interruptions in your work record. You've been employed by General Telepresence Corporation all your adult life. But your employment has been on again off again. And you keep switching departments. It says you worked in their Retail Department as a clerk. You worked in one of their restaurants. You were independently contracted by the corporation as construction laborer. You worked as a lifeguard in one of their water parks. For the last three years, you've been working for their Resort Security department. And now you want to try something totally different.
"Now, Mr Archer, I'm not trying to judge you. But you appear to be the type of person who can't stay committed to one thing and follow it through. It seems like you just can't decide what you want to do with your life."
Ransom couldn't speak. This guy was much more thorough than anybody he had ever talked to in the General Telepresence HR Department. And Ransom felt that he had totally lost control of the situation. He couldn't think of a diplomatic, euphemistic way of saying that he was a loser. A screw-up. Prone to depression. And that he really didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. But that he was older now, and he was willing to change.
The interviewer must have taken pity on him, and broke the uncomfortable silence. "But you've never been fired from any job you've had with General Telepresence. And when you were working, you were never flagged in a way that affected your rehire status. Your criminal record is clean. And you did get an A in Microbiology. I know I didn't do that. Ha! I think I took Pottery one-oh-one instead. I'll tell you what. I'll talk to few people and put in your application for the work training program. Or, I can give you a job as a security officer right now."
It was a dilemma. He needed money desperately. But as usual with Ransom, all that was quixotic about him silenced any voice of financial responsibility in his soul. "I really wanted that job in the cytology labs."
"Okay, Mr. Archer. I will get back to you."

He should have just said no, thought Ransom. Why must people be so dishonest. After returning home, Ransom became ninety-nine point nine percent sure that "I will get back to you." meant no. He went to his room with his stereoscopic goggles in one hand, and his good friend Jim Beam in the other. He met Rodney at Buddy's Tavern. They both agreed to get shit-faced together. Ransom never drank alone. He always needed company, even if it was virtual company.

Ransom woke up on the floor with his telepresence goggles still on his head. Rodney was nowhere to be found, but he received a prompt from Aquinas asking him to talk, ASAP. Ransom went to the Superhuman League to find Aquinas quickly pacing about and mumbling.
"Fucking fundies. Fucking right-wing wacko Christians."
"Aquinas, what's up?"
His eyes were wild. "Ransom, have you heard from Guzman? I keep getting the busy message."
"No."
"Do you know which San Antonio hospital he works at? He once told me, but I forgot. My server doesn't know either. Fucking theopathic bastards."
"No, I don't know that either."
Aquinas stop pacing and tilted his head, listening to a voice only he could hear. "Oh, thank God! He's all the way on the other side of town. He's all right."
"Why, what happened?"
He gave Ransom that "you've got to be kidding" look. "Haven't you been watching the news?" Then he disappeared.
Ransom had told his server long ago to notify him of any thing big that happened in the news. But he was never able to teach his server exactly what he meant by "big." He got really angry one day when his server bothered him while he was, um, doing what men do when they're alone, to tell him that a famous volleyball player was arrested. Ransom didn't care for sports, In a moment of rage, he told his server to never bother him for a news story again.
Ransom went to his mountain shack. He opened a video window and asked his server for a live news feed. The video screen displayed a building, about five stories tall, covered in plastic sheeting. It read,
LIVE:
Sacred Heart Medical Plaza
San Antonio, SoTex
A woman's voice spoke, "The United Cell and Clone Corporation announced that they would release a statement at noon, Eastern Time. Seventh Day Wellness Corporation announced that it would release a statement at that same time. Both Corporations have reported that their corporate security is on full alert. The Sacred Heart Medical Building is owned jointly by UC&C and Seventh Day. UC&C headquarters in Shanghai has..."
Ransom interrupted the live feed. "Server, back search this news channel. Two hours. Key statement, if you're just joining us, or, if you're just tuning in, or something similar."
This time a man spoke, "If you've just logged on, we are covering this breaking news story. The President has raised the Homeland Security alert from code green to code red, after a biological terrorist attack in San Antonio, discovered just two hours ago."
The same woman from before, "San Antonio Police and Emergency Services, as well as the security forces of UC&C, and Seventh Day Wellness Have all been on the scene since nine thirty, Central Time. They've cordoned off several blocks surrounding The Sacred Heart Medical Plaza, the apparent target of the attack. They have quarantined the building, and have removed everyone that was in it." On the video, Ransom could see guys in bright yellow, hermetically sealed biohazard suits running in and out of the building.
"The death toll is rising. At least one hundred have died from exposure. Hundreds more are violently ill. Doctors and emergency workers are racing against the clock, getting treatment to those who can still be saved. UC&C Security has reported that bioterrorists have apparently used an airborne RNA toxin, similar to the bioweapon used in the attack on a subway station in Seoul, Korea by The Light of the Universe cult back in 2028. The method used to disperse the toxin is not yet known. A group claiming responsibility for the attack has broadcast a simple text message throughout the Net. They call themselves Judgment Force, a Christian religious extremist group. Their target, an abortion clinic contracted through United Cell and Clone run out of the second floor of the building."
Ransom didn't know how to feel. He didn't feel sad. He didn't know anyone in San Antonio except Guzman. He addressed his server, "Bring back the live news feed."
The man was speaking again, "SoTex Governor Clarke is already on the scene assessing the attack. She is expected to address the state at quarter after twelve. The..."
The woman interrupted. "Matt, we're getting breaking news. Seventh Day Security has reported... Oh my Go..." She stopped for a moment and stared at the unseen prompt. "They have reported that one of the victims is Evangelist Claude Virunga. In the Sacred Heart Building at the time of the attack, the Reverend Virunga received treatment after he was carried out of the fifth floor offices owned by Seventh Day Corporation. The Rwandan born American Evangelist is recognized as one of the world's greatest religious leaders, and has been called by some a modern day prophet. Claude Virunga, founder of the Transadventist Church and leader of the Transadventist Revival... dead at age forty-six."
Ransom knew of Claude Virunga very well. He'd read several of his books and watched a few of his videos. He had even seen him speak live before. But Ransom couldn't say that he knew him. He knew that the world had just lost a very intelligent man, and a great humble servant of God. Maybe he could feel sorry about that. But Ransom still didn't feel sad.
The news anchor was visibly upset however. She wiped a tear from her left cheek and took a deep breath. "I apologize to our audience for my display of emotion. I am a Transadventist Christian, and have met The Reverend Virunga many times. I've known him for years. He was... is an incredible human being. I first met him when I was working in Orlando, and he had just started his ministry. Bring up a few good clips in that interview from early in my career. No, not that one... Yes."
The video screen filled with the face of Claude Virunga. A black man, he had the lighter-brown complexion of a Tutsi, even though he was descended of the Hutu ethnic group. His face always had a jovial demeanor. How someone who'd been through so much horror in his life could be so happy all the time, Ransom never understood.
Claude Virunga
Leader of the Transadventist Movement
Orlando, CenFlo; April 2014
The camera switched over to the face of a younger version of the female news anchor. Virunga looked younger too. but Ransom always thought that he looked older than a man his age should. "Reverend Virunga, in the seven points of your Transadventist Declaration, one of the points stated that America must repent of the sin of Sodom, or they will receive the wrath of The Lord. Is this a condemnation of homosexuality?"
Virunga was a brilliant speaker. He had an East African accent that was not too heavy, just strong enough to make him sound unique without putting off his American audience. "No, no, no. First off, our saviour did not bring condemnation to the gay. The sin of Sodom is not homosexual behavior, as is the common misconception. God's wrath was brought about by a far greater evil, that is, a lack of compassion. The prophet Ezekiel said that this was the sin of your sister Sodom, comfort and excess of food, without helping the poor. A lack of compassion, this is why God destroyed them."
Another clip. The news anchor asked, "Do you really think that Armaggedon will come in your lifetime?"
His face became suddenly serious. "I'm not going to presume to make a date for the Day of The Lord God Almighty. Many so-called prophets have made that mistake. Only The Father knows the day and time. However, I do believe what I believe God has revealed to me. Mankind is now in a transitional stage, heading for the imminent Advent of Jesus Christ." He laughs nervously. "Many people look at me like I'm crazy when I tell them I believe that the world will soon end. People think that it will never happen. But just think how close the world came to ending in World War Two. Less than a century ago. The two great Beasts of Nazi Germany and The Empire of Japan, arose to lay the world to waste. The Jews of Eastern Europe saw their world end." He stared away from the camera at something very far away. "I saw my world end. I saw violence spread like a virus. I saw how easily men could become animals. That was just twenty years ago. Do I think that I will live to see the Armeggedon? It's very possible. Maybe even likely. But I pray to God that I don't."
The old interview clips ended. The anchorwoman appeared on screen. Her eyes were red and puffy. But she spoke in the same professional voice she used before. "The Reverend Claude Virunga received his wish, as today he has gone to a better place."
The anchorman spoke, "San Antonio PD has reported that the official death toll is one hundred, twelve. Police are looking throughout the city for people who may have been exposed to the bioweapon through a short visit to the Medical Plaza. A great tragedy has been made all the more tragic with the death of a man who has touched the lives of so many. We now go to Jasmine Smith, our correspondent live on the scene."
Ransom closed the video window. He still didn't feel sad. But he knew what was going to happen. He would contemplate this tragedy. It would upset him. Claude Virunga is only the first. The personal stories of the victims of this attack will start to come out. It would all upset him. Ransom wanted to get his mind off of it. Right away. "Server, load a three-dee movie from my archive. It's called Iraqi Babe Search, or something."
Eroti-Vision Presents:
Iraqi Nympho Search: Part 7
Babes of Baghdad
Ransom was standing in a hotel room. A greasy looking guy in a trench-coat was sitting on the bed next to a young woman in tight clothing.
"What's your name?" asked trench-coat.
"Nala." she smiled and rolled her eyes as she said it.
"You like Americans, Nala?"
Ransom laughed. "What did you do after you heard about the San Antonio tragedy, Ransom?" asked himself. "I looked at porn. I'm such a perv."
His wrist-server chimed.
INCOMING CALL: Seventh Day Wellness Corp Human Resources
Damn. Ransom turned off the porn and answered it.
"Hello, Mr Archer. I talked to you yesterday. Listen, we need good people in our security department in the worst way. If you could go in to talk to the guys in our Baseball City office about a job, we would really appreciate it."
"Uh. What about the on the job training program in the cytology labs?"
"I'll be honest with you. They're not going to select you for that program. But let me tell you about this. If you work for the Company for twelve months, then you can matriculate at Seventh Day University for free. Then you can earn the certification for any job you want. A smart guy like you can work full time and go to school too. I bet you could sleep through these courses and still pass them.
"Um."
"Do you need money, Mr Archer? Mr Rubenstein, the head of the Baseball City Safety and Security department said that he can give you as much overtime hours as you want."
"Uh."
"I'm going to appeal to your sense of duty, Mr. Archer. Are you the type of person who wants to help people? I'm sure you heard about what happened in San Antonio. Right now, the world needs security officers. Come on, man. What do ya say?"
Help people. Right. Ransom answered, "When should I come in?"

9. Survival of the Fittest

2005-07-25T05:03:00.000-07:00

Can you truly say that you're doing this just to help people? Risking your life in the exosphere.
Ransom thought, what a stupid thought. Of course.
Examine your motives. Can you truly say they are free of self interest?
...

The next week was a week of elation. Ransom has been hired for new jobs so many times, one would think that getting another job is no big deal. But this time was different. This time, he had his mind set on a career. No more irresponsibility. No more youthful capriciousness. Ransom would work. He would go to school. He would do both at the same time. He would become a productive member of the human race with a job that helps people. It was time for Ransom to become a man. At twenty-five years, it was about damn time.

He received his new hire packet in his e-mail the next day. "You are now a member of The Seventh Day family." it said. "Seventh Day Wellness is the largest health care organization in the world. We own and operate nearly eighty percent of the hospitals and health care facilities worldwide... Of the world's Big Ten corporations, Seventh Day is the only one that is not-for-profit... Seventh Day Wellness Corporation is owned by the Transadventist Church, however, we are an equal opportunity employer. Our company does not discriminate in regards to faith, creed, or denomination... Seventh Day was founded in 2014, with a single health clinic in Orlando, Florida... Seventh Day business ethic is based on biblical principles... Our corporate mission is direct fulfillment of two of the seven points of Transadventist, as expounded by the Transadventist Declaration, written by the Reverend Claude Virunga in 2012. Health Reform, treating our bodies as what they are, temples of The Holy Spirit, with each person individually taking utmost care of their personal health... Compassion for the sick and injured, diligently researching and embracing the latest medical technologies, in order to better carry on in ourselves the healing ministry of Christ... We at Seventh Day believe that all people are children of God, and each individual human life has infinite worth... We at Seventh Day do not support medical technology that does not show respect to God's creation... Sanitas Foods, a subsidiary of Seventh Day headquartered in Melbourne, Australia, is the world's largest manufacturer of organic health foods."
"This is all very interesting." said Ransom. "Server, tell me what Seventh Day Corporation can do for the cause of Superhumanism."
His server answered, "Ransom, the word 'superhumanism' does not appear anywhere in file titled 'new hire packet.' There is one find where similar terminology is used."
"Well let me see it."
"When the advent of Christ comes, we will be transformed." It was Claude Virunga speaking. "Do not think that humanity will stay the same. We will be changed in the blink of an eye. We will become the New Man. And we will no longer be dependent on flesh and blood. We will no longer be bound to time, because we will have direct communion with an eternal, timeless God."
"Server, I'm not looking for religious rhetoric. Show me any information about the cytology labs."
"Seventh Day Wellness Corporation is one of the leading pioneers in the field of cytology. In recent years, the life expectancy in America has jumped nearly two decades. Experts credit this explosion of longevity to advances in medical cytology. Cytology, or medical treatment at the cellular level has given life, and life more abundantly to those who were given no hope from older medical technologies."
A large muscular man appeared on the video window. "Hi. I'm Yusuf Chakir, a running back for the Miami Dolphins. Four years ago, I was in a car accident that I thought would end my football career. My knees were ruined. I needed therapy just to walk afterward. But today, I'm winning Super Bowls thanks to Seventh Day Wellness.
"Seventh Day is the world leader in adult stem cell technology. With old school medicine, my knees would have never been the same. But using the newest treatments available on the planet, the doctors at Seventh Day took cells from my own body and grew new ligaments, cartilage, and tissue necessary to rebuild what that accident took away from me. And would you believe? I'm better, stronger, than I was before? And I owe it all to the cytology labs of Seventh Day, were they diligently pursue new healing technologies, all the while showing respect to God's creation."
Rather than contain any useful information about what the company actually did, the new hire packet was just a pitch to tell people what a wonderful corporation they had just joined. Sure, the packet contained plenty of helpful facts about the myriad of benefits and programs available to Seventh Day employees. But Ransom wasn't worried about that. He had ninety days of the nine-to-five grind before he was eligible for any benefits. And it would be a whole year before the company would pay for his school. Ransom closed the new hire packet and filed it away for later.

"Don't spill a single drop of that nano-chromatic chameleon paint! It costs three hundred dollars a gallon. Every bit wasted is less money for us."
"Yes Dad, I know." said Ransom. "I was there when you bought it, remember?"
"Just making sure you know." said the elder Archer. He turned and left to get a fresh fuel cell for one of the air compressors.
Ransom's enthusiasm for his new job had cooled quickly. He was already regarding his job with pessimism, and he hadn't even begun working. He still had a week left before his first day. To get some extra money, he agreed to help his father with a one time painting job, a house, almost a mansion, in Haines City. It was owned by, coincidentally, a doctor of cytology. The doctor wanted his house coated with nano-chromatic paint so he could make it change colors with the seasons, or whatever.

Ransom was over twenty-one years of age, and had no criminal record or history of mental illness. According to the Drug Legalization Act of 2020, Ransom was authorized to purchase, without prescription, any narcotic, any mood-altering or mind-altering substance, any drug except antibiotics or antivirals, as long as it was for his personal use only. He and his father had passed a convenience store on the way to the job site.

Ransom wondered, what if this job turns out to be a dead end, like every other job he's ever had. What if they don't let him go to school like he wants. What if he can't get that job in the cytology labs. What if he can go to school, but he can't deal with the stress of working and going to school at the same time.
The "what-ifs" bled from the pessimistic, glass-half empty side of his brain. He was tumbling in to depressed valley whose depth matched, if not exceded the height of the peak of elation he reached after getting the new job. The sudden onset of depression actually took Ransom by surprise. He was tempted to go to the convenience store and get some chemical relief. Nothing to strong. A low dosage heroin cap would suffice. If that was to much, maybe he could buy a joint. No. He didn't want his thoughts scrambled. He just needed to feel good for a bit.

Ransom's father was complaining about his car. They had just raised gasoline prices again. He was finally relenting of his old ways and admitting that he should break down and go electric like everyone else. Ransom's mind was elsewhere.
Ransom thought about the big fat eugenicist he met at the Superhuman League. What if he were partially right? What if heredity played a larger part of our intellect than we were willing to admit?
Ransom looked at his father. He cared about the old man. He loved his mother too. But it would be a lie to say that they were the best parents. They were barely able to keep a roof over the heads of Ransom, his brothers and his sisters. He remembered how often his father was without work. He remembered going to the mission to get free food. He remembered when his mother told them to start packing, they were moving tomorrow out of their apartment and into a trailer park where they charge rent by the week, not the month. He remembered the summer they lived for free in that home that was owned by their church. That house had no air conditioning. Luckily, that summer wasn't so bad as far as Florida summers go.
How much was Ransom his father's son?

An amphetamine inhaler or a hyper-caffeinated energy drink would brush away every negative thought from his mind. But it would make him jumpy, skittish. Painting is a boring job that requires patience. Some codeine syrup would make him feel better. Or maybe some endorphinated chocolate milk. That milk from genetically modified cows contained a small amount of pain alleviating endorphins.

On a particularly long unbroken space of wall, Ransom began to think about Ken. He thought about how they would bullshit around, and how Ken could make him laugh. How he would always try to make Ken laugh. One time, Ken did this impression of this popular yet lame British actor. Ransom laughed the hardest he'd ever laughed in his entire laugh. He laughed so hard, he couldn't breath. He had tears running down his eyes. Presently, Ransom could feel the non-joyful tears welling up. If his father came around the corner of the house, he could just say it was the paint fumes.
It was just so God Damn unfair.

In the end, Ransom decided to buy no drug. He would let the pain come. He would let it spread from his mind until it became actual physical pain that he could feel in his chest. He would revel in the pain. Get high on the pain. Feel it squeeze his lungs, like a good hit of oxycodone. The pain would cut him. Scrape against him. It would sharpen his mind to perfect clarity. He could see the world how it really was. Life is suffering. Unless a seed dies and falls to the ground, yada, yada.

On his first day on the job, Ransom got to marvel at his own prescience as he manned the gate to the hospital parking garage. The Security and Safety Department was supposed to train him for forty hours before he did anything. Company policy. But they were so short of help that they decided to let Ransom do his job for a few weeks, and then train him on how to do his job. Genius.
It was very boring.

Ransom hadn't seen Jesse in weeks. Every time he went to see her to tell her the good news about his new job, the door to her fortress of solitude was locked. He kept getting the same message, "Busy with school."After three weeks, he realized that he really missed her. He left her a simple text message asking, what's up?

The thought occurred to Ransom that Jesse might be highly unimpressed by Ransom's new job. Jesse is so smart and industrious, she would be guaranteed an awesome job once she graduated. And here the best Ransom could do is score an entry level job doing brain dead unskilled work that a robot would soon be able to do, if robots aren't advanced enough to do it already. But should any of that matter? Jesse liked him when he worked an unskilled job at General Telepresence. She liked him even better when he was unemployed. what did Jesse really think of him? How did Ransom feel about her?

The next day, Ransom found the door to her office open. Open to him, at least.
The moment he saw her, he new something was wrong. She never used emotion filters with Ransom anymore. She was just floating there, staring into space. Damn, she looked so good. She was wearing her superhero outfit. Her cape flowed down her back like the wings of a seraph. "I can't talk long, Ransom. I really should be working."
"I haven't seen you in a few weeks. How are you?"
"I'm crippled and stressed. How about you?"
Oh boy. Ransom decided against his better judgment that it was his job to cheer her up. After all, she had always had the power to cheer him up somehow. "Jesse, what's wrong?"
"I really don't want to talk about it, Ransom."
"But..."
"No, please. Not about my pathetic life. Tell me about yours."
"Okay. I got a new job."
"That's great, Ransom. It really is."
"I work for Seventh Day Wellness now. I'm still a security guard. But I'm going to transfer to the cytology labs someday."
"Cool."
"I think it is." said Ransom. "The labs in Orlando are some of the most advanced in the world."
"I know. I've been there."
"You have? Cool. They're coming up with all kinds of new treatments and therapies using stem cell technology."
She was staring him straight in the eyes. He could tell what she was thinking. Don't you dare mention spinal cord injury.
"I just think it's really amazing. What they're capable of these days." said Ransom
"Ransom, I understand that it's your job now. But I find the medical field horribly uninteresting. Medicine has failed me. I really don't like discussing it."
"Yeah, but..."
"Ransom! I've discussed this ad nauseam with people much smarter than you. Okay?"
"I, uh... I gotta go. Be right back."

He peeled off his telepresence goggles and quickly paced around the room. Nice going, Ransom. She raises her voice a little and you run away like a scared little boy. Chances are her door will be locked when you return.
Why was she acting this way? Why was she lashing out at him? Didn't she know that he was on her side? Didn't she know that he got this job for her?
No. He couldn't say that. He can't even think such a heresy. He did not get this job for her. He dare not put that weight on her conscience. He dare not have the arrogance to think he could be her savior. He got this job for himself. To do something worthwhile with his life, in order to benefit his soul. And if someday, somehow, however unlikely, he's able to benefit Jesse, all the better.
He looked in the mirror and steeled himself. Come on, Ransom. You're not a teenager. You know how to talk to females. Okay, so you've never dealt with a girl with this magnitude of emotional baggage before. But you can do it. Don't be stupid. Don't be arrogant. Don't be afraid. Get in there and make her feel better about herself. Use your powers for good.

"Welcome back." she said.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
"Sorry for leaving."
"Oh."
"Jesse, you've been neglecting the Superhuman League Forum."
"Yeah, I know. I'm thinking of getting rid of it. Giving it to someone else who can give it the time it deserves."
"What? You love this place."
"What's the point?" said Jesse. "It's too childish. No one takes it seriously with all the comic book crap on the walls. Besides, there are plenty of forums dedicated to the cause of Superhumanism out there."
"And none of them are moderated by you."
"So?"
"You're really passionate about this. You really believe in working towards superhumanity."
"I believe it because I have to." she said. "Every girl needs a dream. I can't very well become a model, or a star tennis player. I wish I could just get a normal job and get by on my looks. I'd be brain dead, but I'd be happy."
"You would not be happy. You're too intelligent. You would inevitably become dissatisfied knowing that you're not doing what you want to do with your life."
"How do you know if what I want isn't determined by random events and dumb luck? If fate had not have screwed me over, I could have been completely satisfied with all the things my parents want for me. A well adjusted paraplegic with a high paying job, a husband, kids, and all the other bourgeois American dream nonsense."
Jesse moved closer to the ceiling. She was floating, swimming on the columns of air. She faced away from Ransom as she spoke. Her voice was projected by the room's virtual acoustics. "Of course, there's nothing wrong with that, really." she said.
Ransom could not go to her. He was held firmly to the ground by the physics Jesse chose for the forum. "Jesse, tell me what's happening."
She considered it for a moment. "I'm, uh... I'm on academic probation. I'm failing public speaking, one-oh-one. And my parents are threatening to pull their financial backing."
"I can't see someone as intelligent as you failing a freshman public speaking course." said Ransom.
"I hate public speaking. I can't stand standing, well, not standing, but being in front of a crowd. I've never been able to do it. I'm afraid of crowds."
"Jesse, I've seen you speak in front of an audience before. You're good."
"That was telepresence. I've suggested we do our speeches in telepresence, but my prof has the shockingly unprogressive idea that telepresence isn't quote, unquote, real. If virtual reality were real, it would be called reality, she says. What a bitch."
"And now you're on academic probation."
She had been doing the back-float, facing the transparent ceiling, looking at the stars as she talked. She turned over and faced him, but she wouldn't look him in the eyes. "They only put you on academic probation after you fail. I'm on academic probation because I failed a drug test.
Ransom was silent for a moment. His mouth was the letter "o." "You take drugs?"
"I have been, on and off, ever since I was shot. I became addicted after the series of surgeries I went through. I went to NA for a year. I trusted in the help of my higher power, which was the Tiplerite Eschaton. I stopped going once I felt I had it under control. I temporarily start taking again whenever I feel like I'm going through a stressful period."
Ransom looked at the floor, "I never knew... How seriously does your school treat drug use?"
"Pretty seriously. A couple dumbasses od'ed and died last year. And the school doesn't want liability. Zero tolerance for all students. I've been able to avoid drug testing so far because I'm not totally above using my situation for sympathy in certain cases. But a couple weeks ago, one of the admins wanted to prove he was completely free of liberal guilt and he stuck a biowand in my mouth. They didn't buy my excuse about having a poppy seed bagel for lunch."
Ransom must have been looking at her funny, because she said, "Don't look at me like that Ransom. It's not like you haven't done drugs before."
"But I can put the drugs away at any time." he said. "I guess I have a non-addictive personality. That's not... I just thought I knew you. You've managed to hide a major part of your personality from me, again."
"I'm not proud of the fact I use. But I'm not ashamed. You want me to apologize?"
"No." he said. "But all of those times I talked to you about Ken."
"Your friend is a totally different situation. I am not suicidal. Do you really think that I am?"
"I didn't say that." Ransom changed the subject. "So because of this your parents will pull your financial backing."
"Yeah."
"And what's so bad about that? Will you have to return your robot car?" Ransom cringed. His tone made the question sound rhetorical and harshly sarcastic.
But Jesse didn't seem to notice. "Oh no. They wouldn't return my car. They paid way too much for the customizations. What they want to do is pull me out of school here and make me attend some place in SoFlo, where they can keep a close eye on me. God! They will never let me grow up. They don't understand. No one does."
Ransom said nothing.
"They're absolutely mortified about me using again. They think this is the first time I've used since I stopped attending NA meetings. My father would go nuts if he new of how much I really do.
"So since I failed to live up to their high standards of moral hygiene, now everything I do is suspect. They think that failing my public speaking course is directly related to my so-called drug problem. I tell them that I'm afraid of public speaking. They don't believe me. I tell them that I can get over my phobia if I put my mind to it, but I don't have the time because of all the time I spend in my Theoretical AI Psychology class. And now, get this, they want to know why I spend so much of my time on one class. Can you believe that? I mean, I can handle skepticism over the Singularity. But why can't my parents understand that this is my life? Why can't they understand how much this means to me?"
"I don't know." said Ransom.
"They want to know why I spend so much time in telepresence in my forum. They think it's a waste of time. I told them how impressed my Prof was when he visited the site. And now, and now, my father thinks Professor Ray is a bad influence on me. Professor Ray is a genius. If anyone can create a true AI, it's him."
"Professor Ray is your AI Psychology prof, right?"
She looked like she'd just received a great insult. "Ransom! Professor Ray. I talk about him all the time. I showed you that video of him, once."
"Yeah but... I forgot his name..." Change subject. "Jesse, is there any way you can stay at your school without out your parents' money? I thought that you told me that you went to school on a scholarship."
"Yeah, I have an egg scholarship from United Cell and Clone. I can't lose that, even if I fail every class I take."
"An egg scholarship?"
"Yeah, you know, I donate eggs, and they pay for my school." said Jesse.
"I know what it is. I just didn't know you could..."
"Oh. Yeah. Well as fucked up as my body is, it can still produce viable eggs. I just can't have children. The egg scholarship is generous. But it can't support the out-of-state fees. I need my dad to cover the rest of the bill, or it's back to SoFlo I go."
"Is there any other source of money available to you. Are you eligible for any other scholarships?"
"I've been looking." she said. "I've been racking my brain trying to think of another money source. But it's hard. I'm trying to pass public speaking, and I still have lots of work to do for AI Psychology. And I've just never been good with money. I hate thinking about money. It's so vulgar."
Easy for you too say, thought Ransom. "Well, can you get your parents to change their minds?"
"I think there's a chance I can persuade them if I pass my speaking course."
"I believe in you." Ransom couldn't help but detect the insincerity in his voice. In the back of his mind, a caustic voice was deriding her. This is why she's so upset? This is why she shut him and everyone else out? Because she's not allowed to abuse narcotics? Because she can't go to school exactly where she wants? Because mommy and daddy won't let her get away with wasting money on an easy class that she won't even bother to pass? Because she's going to be inconvenienced? She prolly doesn't even realize how spoiled she sounds. Ransom couldn't believe that this was the same girl that kept him up at night thinking about her. He could almost say that he was disgusted. Didn't she realize how many people out there would love to go to school anywhere? With all bills paid? And with all the problems in the world, with people dying in terrorist attacks, how could this upset her so?
And then it hit him. The reason that she worries about the small things, is that the big things are too much to think about. She has experienced a world of pain that he can't imagine. Ransom felt ashamed. He had no right to judge her.
"Come on, Jesse. You don't even believe your own words."
"Huh?" she said.
"You're always saying how virtuality is becoming more important, and how it's becoming increasingly irrelevant where our flesh and blood is located. So why does it matter if you go to school in Mass or in SoFlo?"
She mulled it over for a moment. "You have a point. I can do most of what I'm doing in SoFlo with no regards to geography. But still, we haven't reached a place where location is nothing. And the world's best AI research lab is here in Mass. The Singularity could be triggered right here. And to some people, the location of the flesh is still very important."
Ransom smirked. "You got that right."
"Um, I was talking about my parents. They're old-fashioned. Great geographical distance between me and them can be, uh, it can prevent strife."
"Are your parents really so bad?"
"They are just completely overbearing. They've always treated me like a child. Even before I was attacked. The distance between them is healthy for me really. They can't drop by unexpectedly. And they don't use telepresence. If they want to talk to me, they use voice. Or even worse, or better, depending on how you look at it, they use archaic instant messaging."
"Instant message? No kidding? With emoticons and everything?"
"Ugh! Those stupid sideways smilies. I hate them. They are so uncool." She smiled, for the first time tonight.
"You know, your parents don't sound so bad. They love you, don't they?"
"Yes Ransom. They're good people. After I was shot, they were there, twenty-four seven. And when I was going through the most painful rehabilitation, my father was destroyed. He said he hated seeing me go through it. He said he thought about suicide. I sometimes think that getting shot hurt him more than it hurt me.
" But I would like some independence. I am twenty-three years old. It's about time. And I love Professor Ray. I would hate to leave him."
"Well then pass that public speaking course. You can do it."
"I don't know... Oh, Ransom, what's wrong with me?"
"Nothing is wrong with you."
"How can I do so well in a really difficult course and not even pass a freshman course. I mean, everybody in my Theoretical AI Psychology class hates me because I set the curve on every exam. Did you know that I failed high school?"
"Huh?" he said.
"If I was any other student, I wouldn't have graduated. I didn't have enough credits. I should have been held back senior year. But the school bent over backwards making concessions for me. They even wanted me to speak at graduation. But I didn't, of course."
This was the first time Ransom had ever heard her express a lack of confidence. He wondered if she had been strong and confident all this time up until now. Or maybe this was the first time she felt really comfortable with him. "Jesse, you're the most intelligent girl I know."
"Get lost."
"Hey, do you know everyone I know?"
"If you think I'm so smart then why must you always disagree with me?"
"What better way to look smart than to argue with the smartest girl in the forum?"
"You mean you weren't doing it just to piss me off?"
"That too. You're beautiful when you're angry."
"Oh, jeez." Jesse had slowly been floating closer to the floor. At this point, she was close enough to touch him. And she did. She put a hand on his face. Ransom regretted with all his might that it was only two telepresent avatars touching and wished to God that he could feel that hand in the future. He changed his POV, so he could see Jesse and himself from the side. What a handsome couple, he thought. "I really do feel better now, Ransom. I have to go now. You take care." She blew him a kiss.

Ransom cared for Jesse. He wanted nothing but her happiness.
Is that true?
Of course, thought Ransom. I spent all that time trying to cheer her up. And he would have spent more time, stayed up all night, if necessary. He didn't consider himself a hero. But for all he knew, his edifying counsel could have given her more of the confidence she needed to succeed. Because more than anything, Ransom wanted her to succeed.
But that's not true.
The truth was, Ransom wanted her to fail. He wanted her to fail. He wanted her close by, in SoFlo.
So what? Thought Ransom. If she did fail, it would be her fault. All Jesse would remember was that Ransom did everything he could to build up her confidence. If she passed, good for her. If she didn't, then all the better.

11. Jamie

2005-07-25T05:01:00.001-07:00

It was about a year prior.

"So I got a message from the health insurance department. They told me that the reason they won't pay for my gene therapy is because they don't pay for cosmetic procedures. Cosmetic! You believe those assholes?"
Ransom was sharing a table with David McGinty, whose over three hundred pound frame didn't leave much room for Ransom's relatively thin build. David was a fellow officer at General Telepresence Resort Security. They would both be working at Fantasy World theme park that day. Ransom had met many fat people who claimed that the reason they were fat was genetics. David was the only person he knew who could make that claim legitimately. He suffered from a gene defect just recently isolated by scientists.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." Dexter Anjou, the Sergeant for the day walked to the front of the briefing room "A couple thing, folks. Today at Matrix Quest, they're having a competition between two warring game tribes. Many members of the two tribes will be out in the parks today. So keep an eye out for confrontations. And for those of you who have not encountered these tribes before, it's kinda like the tension we had with the Florida, Florida State football team fans, only more intense. These people are constantly fighting each other on the Net. And now they are meeting face to face, on our territory."
David leaned over and whispered to Ransom, "I'm a member of Clan Warlock. After my shift is over, I'm gonna go fight in the tournament. It'll be so cool!"
"Good luck, Dave."
Anjou cleared his throat. "Also, corporate intelligence tells us that there will be a protest outside the Grand Seahorse Convention Center. It's a pro-life group. They are picketing the Cytological Doctors' Convention, held today. In fact, there are a few protesters out there already.
The blackboard turned into a live telecast of the front of the Grand Seahorse. The security servers had the ability to produce realtime video of every square inch of General Telepresence property. Now, they were looking at about half a dozen people standing on the side of the road. They were carrying telescreen signs with bible verses scrolling across, interrupted with an occasional picture. One of them had brought a holographic projector that was able to suspend a twenty-foot-tall, translucent, dead, mutilated fetus. After a few seconds the fetus transfigured into the face of weeping Jesus.
"We already have a officer stationed out there. Now this is unlikely, but just in case they start rioting or something we will be calling in officers from surrounding areas like Fantasy World and the shopping district. So you guys and girls keep you ears on, especially the mobile units."

The day was uneventful up until about noon when Ransom's wrist server began to chime.
Officer Archer. Go to Arabian Nights. In front of Aladdin. Lost juvenile.
Okay. It would have been helpful if they specified whether it was the parents who lost their child, or the lost child. Whatever. Children got lost all the time here.

When he crossed over the bridge that connected Mother Goose Land with Arabian Nights Land, Ransom saw something that he would never forget, not as long as he lived. The most pathetic thing he'd ever seen in his young life. A little boy crying. A pretty young woman was talking to him, consoling him with very little success. Ransom knew that this five or six-year-old boy wasn't crying because his sister slapped him, or because his mother wouldn't buy him an ice cream pop. The tears came from being alone and scared. And to make things worse, the kid was in a wheelchair. The sight of his skinny fragile body wouldn't be so bad if he would stop bawling.

It was silent all around Ransom in this part of the module in the space city. The terrorists must be looking for him at the other end of the module. But the threat was no less imminent. His life was still in danger. So why was Ransom wasting time reminiscing about some little disabled kid he met almost two years ago?

One regret that Ransom had when he took the job at a Seventh Day owned hospital, he was afraid that being around all those sick, or injured people would make him depressed. But now he realized that he saw much worse things working for General Telepresence owned vacation resorts. It wasn't just the beautiful people who wanted to spend the day at one of GT's world-class theme parks, like the ads portray. Ransom got to see every disability, every deformity, every defect, every example of a little body ravaged by disease or tragedy come through the turnstiles. These children were just like any children. They just wanted to have fun. And in their case, adults are more willing to oblige them. General Telepresence, in fact, all of the corporations were constantly setting up free trips for these "special" children.
Ransom always marveled. Medical technology had supposedly come so far in the past fifty years. Snowbirds were now regularly breaking the 120-year mark. But it was still powerless to help so many.

Obviously the child does have an interest in this. He could possibly benefit from Beatrice, just like millions of others worldwide. But there was something else. Something that buzzed around in Ransom's mind and annoyed him like a gadfly. He cursed his memory for being so unreliable at such a crucial point.

He got on his knees to face him. "Hello, Sir. What's your name. Kids usually got a kick out of being called "sir." He stopped crying and told him that his name was Jamie.
"He said his parents were supposed to meet him here." The girl was dressed like a member of some G-rated harem, the official uniform for females at Aladdin's Magic Carpet Ride attraction. "My shift is already over, and I have to catch the Mag-lev." She bent down closer to Jamie. Her voice got about three levels cuter. "Don't worry, Jamie. The officer will take care of you."
"Bye, Kate. Thanks for your help." said Ransom. He had read her name tag and made a mental note to remember in case he want to come back and talk to her another day. She was nice and looked pretty good.
The boy was no longer crying. For some reason, Ransom had a calming affect on him. Maybe it was the uniform. "Well Mister Jamie, we're gonna wait here for your parents. They'll prolly come here looking for you soon. So we'll just stay here and relax until they do. So just relax. Okay, dude?"
The boy studied Ransom intensely, looked over him over with wide eyed curiosity. Finally, he spoke, "Um, excuse me, officer, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course you may, Sir."
"Have you ever shot anyone?"
"What? Shot anyone? No."
"Do you have a gun?"
"No." said Ransom. "No guns are allowed in the park."
"Well do you have anything?"
"Yeah, sure. I have lots of things. I've got a hat. See?" He took off his hat and showed it to him.
"No! I mean weapons and stuff. Do you have handcuffs?"
"Um, I carry some plastic tie restraints. As for weapons, I carry a collapsible baton."
"You mean, for hitting people with?" said Jamie.
"Yes. Well, I've never had to hit anyone before. The baton also has a built in stun gun. To shock people."
"Cool! Can I see it?"
"You wanna see it? Ransom hesitated. The baton stays hidden under his shirt. The rule book for park security told him never to take the baton out unless it was an emergency situation in which he intended to use it. Understandably, the company didn't want park security to resemble a police force, and would rather most guests not know that security carried any weapons. But Ransom was really winning this kid over.
Fuck the rules.

Half an hour passed, and Ransom was beginning to hate a pair of parents he'd never met. He decided to take Jamie to the front of the park, into the air-conditioned Guest Services building. Dispatch put out a BOLO to every employee for Jamie's parents. They also ordered the security server to search the cameras for his parents, after having found their picture through a government database. But with over sixteen thousand guests in the park, even the pattern-recognition engine in Fantasy World's powerful server couldn't be trusted to find them.
"Officer Ransom, can we go to the place with the cars?"
"What? The bumper cars?"
"No, the place where they park the cars."
"Oh, the garage." said Ransom. "No, you're parents aren't out there. They wouldn't go to their car without you."
"How do you know?"
Ransom couldn't help but laugh a little at his response. Jamie began to pout. At least he had gone this long without crying again. Ransom abruptly stopped laughing when he noticed something.
"Jaime, where is your hand stamp?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Well didn't they stamp your hand when you went through the turnstile?"
"No."
Ransom called Sergeant Anjou and told him about this new discovery. He took Jamie backstage, that is, an employees only area, and found a telescreen disguised as a painting of the Fantasy World castle. He verbally commanded it to link with the Sergeant in the security office. Anjou's face appeared on the screen.
"Ransom, take a look at this."
The security server searched it's database and found the video record of Jamie entering the park that morning. The camera was pointed towards a bank of turnstiles. It was unusual because the turnstiles were not being used at the time and there was no attendant. Jamie was there. He just stayed there for a while, looking at something to his right. Then he rolled up to the turnstile, opened the handicapped access gate and went right through.
He sneaked into the park without a ticket! Ransom was crestfallen, finding out that this sweet innocent broken angel was capable of such a thing. Still, he couldn't help but admire the kid's chutzpah. He knew that the admissions people wouldn't question a crippled kid hanging around unattended turnstiles. Jamie wasn't so helpless.
"Jamie, you sneaked into the park without a ticket. Your parents aren't even here, are they?"
"They said they would be here." He looked like he was about to start crying again.
"Hold on. I'm not angry, man. Now tell me, where was the last place you saw your parents?"
"At the seahorse hotel."
Ransom addressed the video screen. "Sergeant, I think we should check the Grand Seahorse. Jamie says..."
"Already ahead of you, Ransom. The guys at Seahorse just called me. They say that a couple of the protesters can't find their kid, who is in a wheelchair."

Ransom stuck around. He wanted to see for himself these fine Christian people, these paragons of parenthood. The mother was the first to arrive. She looked like she had been attractive once, but now she was a fat cow of a woman. Her hips were so thick and splayed that she appeared to waddle like a duck when she walked. "Oh, Jamie. You scared us so much." She leaned down, with some difficulty, and hugged him.
Jamie's father arrived backstage a moment later. He carried in his hand a brightly colored children's wristwatch, which prolly also contained a server. He looked pissed. Ransom was expecting him to lay down the law and instill some old-fashioned fear of God into the kid.
Ransom was surprised that the father spoke with a British accent. Neither Jamie nor his mother had one. Ransom assumed that the father was one of those Europeans who visit CenFlo and then get the crazy idea of living here. "Jamie, what did I tell you? I told you never to remove your wrist-computer. Don't you understand that this keeps you safe?" Jamie said nothing. His father raised his voice even louder. "Jamie, this is rubbish! You are in so much trouble. Your mother and I have been worried sick. What were you thinking?"
Ransom saw none of the crying that he saw earlier. The boy looked completely calm as his father yelled at him. He looked bored even. He didn't answer his father, just shrugged his shoulders.
The father's anger quickly deflated. He got on a knee and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Jamie, my love, why did you do this? Do you want to be a criminal? I told you that today was the protest and tomorrow we would go to Fantasy World. Did you think that I would lie to you?"
Jaime looked down. "No, Daddy."
"Why did you leave the picket line?"
"It was hot out there, Daddy."
"Now, Jamie. We brought the fan attachment for you chair, and plenty of cold juice boxes. Everyone was wondering where you were. I thought you said that you wanted to be in the protest. Your mother had to get someone else to hold your picket sign."
What? Did Ransom hear that correctly? Jamie's parents wanted to put this little kid, who couldn't possibly understand the abortion debate, out on the street as a protester? Ransom was aghast.
"My son, the protest is over, and you've missed it. Did you not say that you wanted to help with the protest? Did you not say that you wanted to help stop those doctors from killing little babies?"
Jamie couldn't look his father in the eye, "No. But I wanted to ride Aladdin's Carpet so bad. I'm sorry, Daddy"
Ransom shook his head. He couldn't decide whether Jamie should be punished for disobedience, or commended for temporarily getting away from his wacko fundy parents.
"I'm very disappointed, Jamie. I have a good mind to cancel our holiday to Fantasy World for this."
"Oh no!" said Jamie. "Please, no, Daddy. I'll behave. I promise."
"All right, son. We can still go. But you must promise that either I or your mother will be with you at all times."
Ransom was disgusted. He realized that it must be difficult to discipline a handicapped child. But still, it must be done. Jamie's parents didn't even appear to be trying. Why are people like this allowed to breed? What kind of lousy parents are they?
Ransom answered his own question. The same kind of stupid parents who would take two hours to realize that their kid was missing. And what kind of parents would misplace their child so easily? The same kind who would take their child to an anti-abortion protest and waste time that could be used for school studies, or just for playing and having fun. Just so he can stand on the side of the road and have strangers gawk at him, cars honk at him, politicians use him as a pawn. These are the kind that's everything wrong with Christians. They're what's wrong with people in general.
Ransom was busy hating them when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Are you Ransom?" He turned. It was Jamie's father. He grabbed Ransom's hand and shook vigorously. "My name is Matthew Bradford. My son thinks very highly of you. He said that you were very kind to him. You, Sir, have my undying gratitude."
"Uh, yeah. No problem."
Ransom spent a few moments chatting with Matthew and got to see Jamie's father up close. At first, he thought that Matthew was maybe fortyish. On closer inspection, he realized that he wasn't much older than Ransom. It looked as if he were aging and his body was deteriorating faster than normal. He was a fat ass, and his posture was terrible. He had the swollen face of an avid beer-drinker. His eyes were dull. And also, the top joint of his middle finger on his left hand was missing. Life must have beat the shit out of him. Ransom found his disgust gradually replaced by pity.
A fellow security officer named Garcia escorted the Bradford family out of Fantasy World. On the way back, Officer Garcia ran into Ransom. "Hey, Ransom. How's life treatin' ya?"
"Can't complain."
Garcia was a marvel, a retiree who worked part-time just to stay active. He was ninety-two years old and he still volunteered to work twelve hour shifts patrolling the parks. He said that he owed his health to positive thinking and a calorie-restricted diet. "You know, when I see a kid in a wheelchair like that, sometimes I want to get so damn depressed."
"You do?" asked Ransom.
"I'm a member of The Shriners. We do fundraisers and stuff like that."
"Oh wow. That's cool."
The next day, Ransom didn't get a chance to see Jamie again because the security department assigned him to work at Animal World theme park.

"Hey, Jamie. How're you doin?"
"Fine. Do you still work at Fantasy World?"
"No, I work in a hospital now." Ransom looked around to see if he could spot Danny Rodriguez. "So... did you like the church service?"
"They talked about Daniel in the Lion's den. And they had a real lion in a cage!"
"Wow! That's awesome. You know, when I used to work at Animal World, we had lions there too. And do you know what we would feed them?"
"What?"
"Little boys who sneaked into the park without a ticket."
Jamie scrunched his nose trying to look angry. It just made him look cuter. "You're crazy! My mom said that I should apologize. She wanted me to write an apology letter, but I forgot."
"I see."
"I'm waiting for my Dad. Will you wait here till he gets here?"
"Um. Yeah, sure." Ransom knelt down in case Jamie wanted to talk some more. He wished his father would hurry up.
"I remembered something when I saw you. You were in my vocabulary lesson a few weeks ago." Jamie reached into the knapsack on the back of his chair and pulled out a scroll notepad. He unrolled it and touched the screen a couple times. He handed the notepad to Ransom and then said the word "ransom." It appeared on the screen. "Tell me if I do this wrong. Ransom, r-a-n-s-o-m."
Ransom nodded.
"A price paid to set the captive free."
"Very good, Jamie."
"My Dad says I'm good with words. I wanna be a writer some day."
"How are you with your studies, Jamie?"
"I'm at the top of my class!"
"Really?"
"Well, it's a really small class. Only four people including me."
"What school is this?"
"Um, Inner-session City Bible Academy. It's a small school. My Mom and Dad say that the big schools lie about history and evolution and stuff."
He meant Intercession City Bible Academy. No doubt a wonderful institution for learning the basics of creation "science." "Jamie, does your father still take you to protests?"
"No. He says he doesn't have time for that anymore. I wish he would, though. I don't like those people."
"Who don't you like?"
"Those doctors who do abortion. And those people who like abortion. They wanted to kill me."
"What?" said Ransom.
"My Dad told me about it. God makes everyone different. But they wanted to kill me because I was different. Some people are born and learn how to walk, but then become handicapped because of a car accident, or something. But I was different, because I was handicapped before I was born. That's why they wanted me to die." Jamie's eyes were wide, like a kitten's frightened by a loud noise. "My Dad says that God hates them."
"Oh, I don't think God hates them. Maybe He's disappointed in them. But He doesn't hate them."
"Then who does God hate?"
"Um..." Ransom should have immediately said no one. But he hesitated for some reason. Before he could say anything, Jamie's father, Matthew arrived.
"I remember you. The security guard from Fantasy World. I didn't know you were interested in prophecy."
"Well, you know." Ransom shrugged. Surprisingly, Ransom almost didn't recognize him. He looked really good compared to before. He had lost a ton of weight. Not just that, he appeared to carry himself differently too. Behind Matthew, he could see Danny approaching.
"So do you live here in Orlando?"
Danny butted in, "No, we're from Baseball."
"Ah. Well I live in Haines City, probably not too far from you. You should consider coming to my prophecy bible study group that meets at my house."
"Hey, that's a great idea." said Danny. "Ransom, I've been thinking that you and me should do something like that. Hey, dude, are you from England. I know a few movie producers from England."
"Yes, I was born in Europe, an ungodly place. I moved to the States as soon as I turned eighteen.
"So what do you say, Ransom? It's good fun, really. We have about twenty people so far, including some cute single Christian girls." He winked at him. "We meet every other Sunday. And the food is brilliant. Pot-luck dinners. You two don't have to bring anything fancy. Just a bag of crisps or a gallon of chocolate milk."
"Uh... Yeah. I'll think about it."
Matthew spoke into his wrist-server. "Computer, send Ransom a map to my house." He looked up, "Very well then. Jamie, let's go find your mother."
Ransom could see Misses Bradford across the lobby. She had lost weight also since Ransom had last saw her, but she was still kinda fat. She was standing alone, not talking to anyone, silently submissive as a good fundy Christian wife should be. "She's over there. Can I ask you a question, Matthew?"
"Of course, Ransom."
"Does your wife have the same opinion of abortion as you do?"
"No, she doesn't. It's been a source of contention between us now and then. But we compromise."
"She doesn't?"
"No, she believes all abortion is wrong, while I think some concession should be made for rape or incest."
"Oh. Okay."

Ransom went to Matthew Bradford's Bible study exactly twice before he couldn't stand any more. He didn't know why he decided to go in the first place. Maybe he thought that he could make some friends there. Maybe he just wanted to check on Jamie. He did get to hang out with Jamie before the study began.
He was hoping that the meeting would be different from the "revival." It wasn't. Just more of the same millennial dispensationalist tripe that he's heard so many times before. The group was mostly comprised of college students and young adults, even a few high schoolers. They all found the subject of biblical prophecy terribly interesting. Which Ransom didn't understand. Or maybe he did understand, he just wanted to have more faith in his generation.
At the second meeting, it was more of the same. Only this time, Matthew had a chart that mapped out the different dispensations of human history. Ransom had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling, "This is bullshit!"

"Awesome meeting, bro. I can't wait for the next one. This time it's gonna be in three weeks instead of two, right? Oh man. That's a long wait."
"Uh... Yeah, Danny. Three weeks." Ransom decided that he would wait till later to tell Danny that he wasn't going back there. Ever.

The sadness had set in again. After he dropped off Danny, Ransom just kept on driving. past Orlando, heading east. He drove until he couldn't drive anymore. He was at the ocean, Port Canaveral. He parked his car and began to walk. Overhead, a transorbital jet roared into the great beyond. He walked on the beach. He could stared at where the horizon would be, if he could see it. He looked at the black water below, and the black indifferent void above. He thought about lots of things. He thought about Ken Cedars and his self-destruction. He thought about Jesse, raped by a bullet. Mostly, he thought about the kid.
It's probably a good deal, being a handicapped child in America. They're treated like princes and princesses, with free trips to amusement parks and visits from celebrities. How many young people, when asked what they want to do with their lives, say that they want to help little handicapped children? They're so cute and helpless, who wouldn't want to help them?
What's going to happen Jamie when he goes through puberty in a few years? Will everyone still treat him so well when he's lanky and greasy and not so cute anymore? Ransom could still vividly remember his own growing pains. The self-consciousness. The insecurity. Once, when Ransom was twelve years old, he got into a minor car accident and scraped his face up on the asphalt. He remembered how viciously the other kids mocked his appearance. Every teenager obsesses over his body. He can't imagine what it will be like for Jamie. He's in for a rude awakening when all those bleeding hearts stop paying attention to him and turn their cares to a new generation of crippled kids. And what about girls? How long will Jamie have to wait before the girls mature enough to look past his wheelchair? Will he have a single date in high school? Will his parents be there for the hardest stage of his life? Or will they be too busy teaching him creation science and apocalyptic nonsense.
Was Ransom cynical, or realistic?
Everyone works, plays, and lives on the assumption that the universe is a good place and that life is fair. But it's a lie. And Ransom couldn't lie to himself. Not tonight.
The old worship song says, oh, for a thousand tongues. Ransom couldn't stop saying it over and over in his head. Life is unfair. If he had a thousand tongues, he still couldn't express how unfair it is. He could see before him. The uncaring black void was infinite. And then he remembered that question Jamie that asked him. "Well, who does God hate?" And he realized why he hesitated that day and couldn't answer. Now he can.
Who does God hate? God hates Jamie.

10. The Second Beast

2005-07-25T05:01:00.000-07:00

Once again, the idea entered Ransom's head. Something, some force was telling him to stay. God. But that was ridiculous, of course. Any "God" would want him to do the right thing. And logic told him that the right thing to do was to escape this section of the space station.
The terrorists believed that God was on their side. The unthinkable. What if God was on there side? Preposterous, thought Ransom. Absolutely profane. How could God be on the side of those fundies? Oppressive, dogmatic neo-luddites. The enemies of science and progress. Carriers of the most virulent meme known to man. And Ransom was once one of them.
He was a much younger man. He wasn't even a man. He was a boy. He was raised in an Evangelical Pentecostal Charismatic church. And he believed everything they told him. He desired to be an acolyte. An "on fire, spirit-filled believer," like his mother. As he got older, he became more alienated from the church of his youth. His faith became smaller.
No doubt, the church leaders Ransom once followed would disapprove of Beatrice. The would call it, "playing God."
The voice that was holding Ransom back was just the last vestiges of a religious upbringing he'd been trying to put away for years.

Jesse failed. She returned, defeated, to her parents home in Miami. But she told Ransom that she was still committed to the cause of Superhumanism. She just needed a few weeks off to think.
Ransom never realized how much his interest in The Superhuman League had come to depend on Jesse. With her gone, he didn't feel like sticking around either. Ransom went back to all his older haunts on the Net, like Buddy's Tavern.

In his mountain shack, Ransom was shuffling through his e-mail. He found a particularly vague message. "Time is running out. Follow the link." He figured he would give it a try since it made it through his spam-filters. He touched it, and everything went dark for a second. Then he wasn't in his shack anymore.
He was standing on the street in the middle of a large urban center, Dallas, CenTex if his memory served correctly. This Dallas, however, was in complete chaos. Apparently, the Armageddon had begun.
It was an advertisement. An elaborate advertisement. Ransom would need to tweak his server's spam-filters after this. Normally he would just immediately leave the advertiser's site. But he stuck around because it actually looked pretty cool.
At first, the ambient sound was nothing but sirens, with occasional screaming. Most, if not all of the massive towers of the Metroplex were on fire, smoke billowing out of gaping red wounds. Ransom let his eyes stare at one of the building too long, and a missile hit it, starting another fire. The interactive program must have known he was staring. Ransom was impressed.
The terror of the fire next time gave way to the grotesque. A group of frantic people came around the corner of the closest building and ran towards him. Their faces covered with sores and lesions, poor unfortunates, victims of a chemical or biological weapon. A moment later, he saw what they were running from, a phalanx of jackbooted policemen marching down the street in military fashion, straight out of an Orwellian nightmare.
He expected rain when he heard thunder. But he realized that there was no lightning when he saw the vertical green line appear silently on the horizon, followed a few seconds later by the sound of expanding, super-heated air as the column of energy tore the sky apart. How lovely. The bad guys took over a graser cannon equipped defense sattellite. And now they were using it to destroy hospitals and elementary schools. He laughed to himself as he thought how impossible that would be. The graser hit a crowd of people. Flaming bodies were sent flying through the air. Ransom rolled his eyes. It was like a Chick tract comic book come to life. This was some violence obsessed teenager's wet dream.
A voice from overhead, God, or someone who thought he was God started speaking. "The world is a fast changing place. And as technology increases, the values and morality of civilized society decreases. Alcoholism and drug use are on the rise. Pornography and Teledildonics tear apart families and lives. Abortion has become a universally accepted form of birth control. Same-sex marriage is legal in all fifty-seven states. Some states have even legalized polygamy. The rights of men and women of faith are oppressed in the name of separation of church and state, a phrase that doesn't even appear in the American Constitution. More and more, people are asking themselves if these things are signs of the end-times as predicted in The Book of Revelation."
The apocalyptic scene faded away. Ransom found himself in a large church auditorium. At the podium stood a man that he thought he recognized. "Hello, I'm Hal LaVaye, the administrator of ProphecyNet, one of the largest and most well established forums in the subject of end-times news."
"Server, stop program, delete file."
"Ransom, are you sure you want to delete file entitled, time is running out?"
"Um, no. On second thought, put it in my junk file box." He might show the program to a few people. It was pretty high quality for a religious advertisement.
"Ransom, Daniel Rodriguez is requesting you audience." said server.
"Let him in." Ransom was bored, so he figured he could put up with Danny for a while. But just in case, he thought of an excuse, so he could get rid of Danny quickly if he wanted to."
Danny materialized, "What's up, bro?" Danny was looking thinner than usual. He must be using software that made him look not so fatass. He wore his usual attire, clothes that were considered trendy when he was in high school, a decade ago. "Ransom, did you see that end of the world scenario I sent you?"
"Oh, that was you. What's with that?"
"Isn't it the coolest thing you've ever seen?"
"It was, interesting."
"It was from ProphecyNet and Indwelling Ministries out of CenTex. They're going to have a revival meeting in Orlando in two weeks."
"A revival, huh?" Ransom had always wondered how revivals, which were supposedly inspired by the Holy Spirit, could be scheduled on specific dates by enterprising Christians.
"I'm thinking of incorporating it into a movie I'm working on. Right now, I'm in pre-production talks with several business partners who are going to look for financial backing."
Oh, brother. Here it comes. His imaginary movie production company. "That sounds great." said Ransom.
"I met with a realtor yesterday to go look at this building. He wanted a fifty-thousand dollar deposit. I'm like, whoa! Don't get me wrong. It's a nice building. But there are no sensor-embedded smart walls. There are still light switches and electrical outlets in the walls. I'm like, come on, man. You gotta work with me and bring the price down."
"Danny, you don't have fifty-thousand dollars. You don't even have a thousand dollars."
"Well, no. Not yet. I still have to work my contacts. You need good money people if you want to run a successful movie company."
Ransom was getting irritated. "Danny, if you're so interested in making movies, then why don't you make one? A movie that would have cost millions of dollars to produce twenty years ago can be made today for free. All you need is a decent server, software for three-dee constructs, avatar constructs, and sound production, which you can download for free if you bother to look, and a lot of time and patience. Ken and I used to make movies for fun. Why don't you just do what you want to do, and stop acting like you're big and important."
"I think you just don't understand the movie business." said Danny.
Ransom gave up.
"So do you want to go?" asked Danny.
"Go where?"
"To the revival."
"Oh, I dunno." said Ransom
"Come on, I think it would be really good for you."
How could Danny possibly know what's good for me? "I don't buy into this end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it stuff"
"You don't? Are you saying that you don't believe the Bible? You need to get back into the Word, bro."
"Uh."
"Well to be honest, I was hoping for a ride. My rail pass expired, and I don't have enough money to renew it."
Ransom really was too nice. He could feel himself slipping. Do this thing, he told himself, and Danny wouldn't bother him, for at least a month. "Okay."

The church was located in the back end of a shopping mall, in a converted movie theatre. Ransom always had a hard time believing that people actually used to leave their homes just to watch a movie, or "film", as it used to be called. On top of that, they used to pay for the privilege.
He couldn't help but roll his eyes when he saw a sign instructing him to turn left for "Extreme Life Church parking." Danny had explained to him that this church was at one time a member of Assemblies of God. When it became independent, the Pastor chose the name "Extreme Life" to appeal to the young Generation Z crowd. The services have a real rock concert feel to them. Ransom groaned.
The concession stand in the church lobby had been converted to a coffee bar. Ransom ordered a cold chocolate banana milk, endorphinated, of course. He wondered if he was the only person there who wished that they sold beer at church.

Ransom's craving for chemical release only grew stronger. He hated being there. He could remember a time when he rejoiced when they said let us go to the house of The Lord. When he was a teenager, he was very attentive to the pastors, especially the youth pastor. He would enthusiastically take notes and read his Bible afterwards. It was nice, having passion for something, believing, and belonging. Now it seemed all he could do was criticize, find fault. He was dissatisfied with the Church. With everything. Maybe he had caught an "evil spirit" or something. Who knows.

The so-called revival was basically a bunch of speakers parading onto the stage, one by one, each giving their reasons why the world was about to end very soon, Whether it was about the evils of telepresence (especially teledildonic cybersex.) Or the endemic problems of terrorism in the third world. Or the disproportionate concentration of wealth among the upper class. Or the American government's tolerance of sinful lifestyles. One particular ignorant individual expressed his opinion that life extension technologies were an evil violation of God's will. After he was through speaking, the Extreme Life Pastor got up and reminded the congregation that every single speaker does not necessarily represent the views of the church.
It seemed to Ransom that with the right obscure passage from the books of Daniel or Revelation, twisted and spun in just the right manner, any world news headline could be turned into a sign that God's wrath was about to be loosed on a wicked world just about ready to go to Hell in a handbasket. But not to worry because at the sound of a trumpet all of the truly faithful will instantly disappear, leaving behind nothing but a neatly folded stack of clothes. Only those left behind will have to worry about the resulting chaos. The injustice of the world would no longer be our problem. Even if we are just a little bit indirectly responsible for said injustice. Feh.
Ransom recognized the last speaker. It was Hal LaVaye, the guy from the Armageddon in Dallas program. He wore a look of seriousness on his face. Ransom had been to enough fundie churches to recognize when someone was about to give a hellfire and brimstone sermon. After a few minutes of chit-chat about the unseasonably warm weather he got right to the point. "Friends, time is running short for this world. The depravity and violence is becoming so great that I am sure God can't hold back his anger much longer. He hears the cry of the innocent. And what is it that angers God the most? It is the lack of respect for human life and human dignity. Murder is redefined because the term, human life, has become relative. There is an endemic holocaust in this world that has become so widespread that it is even now tolerated in countries that are dominated by the legalistic false faith of Islam. When I was a young man, people did this for convenience. Now they do it for profit."
The large screen behind LaVaye lit up. It was an image of a quite alien looking body. A large head, a small spindly body, pink translucent skin. The lowest part of the abdomen was cut open.
"What you see behind me is a murdered child. Sometime during the second trimester, she was removed from the womb and killed before she ever had a chance for life. Her gonads were scooped out and sent to a lab to be harvested for stem cells. This baby girl is just one of thousands of nameless innocents whose blood is crying out to God for justice. And our society has become so depraved that we can commit murder just by renaming a human being a fetus. Have we forgotten what a human being is?"
Ransom had heard all of this before. He knew that this guy wanted to instill a controlled righteous indignation in the audience. And by the looks of the faces of the people around him, it seemed to be working.
"Now I know what you all out there are thinking. You're saying, Brother Hal, this is absolutely horrible, this killing, this moral bankruptcy. All those people out there committing murder out there in the name of convenience and quote, unquote, medical therapy. Oh, Brother Hal, I'm so glad I'm not a part of this holocaust." He paused, took off his glasses and lowered his head. "The Spirit of God is grieved, friends. He is grieved because many of you are a part of this holocaust."
Ransom saw a look of shock on many of the faces around him. But he knew where Brother Hal was going with this. "Of course you've never gone to the abortion clinic and sold the life of your child to a cell bank. But many of you have received treatment, cellular therapy. Can you say where the donor cells you received came from. You, your parents, your grandparents. How do you know whether or not part of grandpa's body was once a part of the baby girl behind me? Every cell bank and cellular treatment center in the United States is guilty. Even ones that claim to be against abortion, like those run by The Seventh Day Corporation. They will still purchase donor cells from an abortion if they deem it necessary. They're basically contracting someone else to do the dirty work for them.
"And what about you young ladies? You need to pay off your student loans, or you need a down payment on a car. So what do you do? You go to the cell bank and make a little money selling your eggs. Oh, but, Brother Hal, you say, that isn't abortion. It's just an egg. Well what do you think they do with those eggs?!"
The preacher had managed to turn his face red. Whereas before he was trying to make the audience angry or scared, now guilt was his tool. He was certainly working this crowd.
"When I was a missionary to China, I had the great displeasure of touring a cytology lab owned by UC&C. I will never forget that day as long as I live. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie. Body parts growing in vats and petri dishes. Lungs. Livers. They had these tiny skeletons growing in jars. No flesh, no organs. Just a skeleton waiting to be harvested for bone marrow.
"Most of you have seen that famous picture of the mouse with a human head growing out of it's back. Don't worry, I'm not going to show it. That's too disgusting. I'm just mentioning it to show you what's going on in China, and more every day, the United States. It's no wonder, however, that China leads the world in abortions. And that they produce the most products harvested from murder. That country is absolutely godless. Even though the communist party holds nowhere near the amount of power they once had, the country is still just as atheistic as ever. Christianity holds almost no influence over there."
Almost involuntarily Ransom spoke out, "What about the Transadventist movement?" He had to bite his tongue to keep from adding, "you jackass." to the end of that. But even though he practiced restraint, shocked audience members were turning their heads to see who dared question Brother Hal. Brother Hal would have to answer, tho. There were Transadventist churches all over China, and indeed the world. The Transadventist church has consistently been the fastest growing church of the twenty-first century.
"Ah yes, that's a good point. Yes, there is a Transadventist influence in China. There are things I admire about the Transadventists. I think they do some good things. However there are certain dogmas in their denominational doctrine that I find are not in complete agreement with a true commitment to God. Any church that is so fond of compromise, especially in the matter of murdered children, is considered suspect in my book. In some ways, Transadventism, and Seventh-Day Adventism, out of which Transadventism evolved, they are not unlike a cult. Just as I've said in the past that Roman Catholicism is not unlike a cult."
Ransom could not believe what he was hearing. He had friends who were Transadventists and Catholics. According to this schmuck, those people were cultists. Ransom glanced behind his back and saw two men in red blazers having a discussion. Both men stopped for a second and took a good look at him. Ransom knew what those security guards were discussing. It would be best not to ask any more questions.

In the crush of people in the lobby, Ransom had managed to get separated from Danny Rodriguez. Everyone was crowding around Hal LaVaye and the other speakers to shake their hands and maybe say a word or two. Ransom was a pretty big guy. He had trouble maneuvering through crowds because he was always overly worried about accidentally trampling someone and looking like a bully. He worked his way around the room until he noticed that the crowd had gotten considerably shorter and younger. A mob of children was pushing forward, wanting to meet the celebrities of the puppet ministry, a pair a five foot tall monsters with blue and pink fur respectively. They were shaking hands and giving kisses to giggling and squealing kids. The monsters were not costumed actors, but rather animatronic robots that must have cost a shit load of money. These children really seemed to like them. Ransom wondered how many of the kids realized that the object of their affections was a soulless machine.
He heard someone calling his name, but it was a kid's voice. "Hey! Officer Ransom!"
He turned and looked down at the wide eyes of an excited young boy who was staring back at him while tightly gripping the armrests of his wheelchair. Ransom strained his memory. I know this kid. Where do I know him? What's his name?
"Jamie?"

12. Personhood

2005-07-25T04:56:00.000-07:00

"Let me ask you a question. I know this is going to make me sound like Hitler, or something. But sometimes, I think it would be a good idea to line up all the patients in this building in front of a ditch and just shoot 'em. You ever think about that?"
Cisco looked at Ransom through red slits in his eyelids. He wasn't the least bit shocked by Ransom's suggestion. He may even see his point of view. "No, man. Then I wouldn't have a job."
"But see, that's my point. It's your job to take care of these people. But it's a pointless job. All the manpower that's wasted on these people. It's a shame. You could better serve society doing something else."
"Like what?" smoke came out of Cisco's mouth as he talked.
"Just an example, you could be working at a cytology lab. They're doing a lot of exciting work there. They're using cellular therapy to cure Parkinson's disease. They might even one day be able to cure the patients in this building, if such a thing is possible. Hell, there are all kinds of things you could do to help move mankind into a better world. That's gotta be better than wasting your time here. You could have an exciting job in one of the three frontiers of future, biotech, nanotech, or Artificial Intelligence research."
"Naw. I'd prolly have a shitty job like the one I have now."
"Maybe, maybe not." said Ransom. "But what you're doing now is pointless. These patients of yours, they make zero contribution to society. They're trapped in perpetual infancy. They can never grow as people. Never evolve."
"Yeah, that must suck, not being able to contribute to society." Cisco put the cannabis cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag. Ransom looked around, ever vigilant, even though he was in no danger. Cisco could be fired for getting high on company time, though. He was on break from his night shift working at a home for the severely mentally handicapped. They were both hanging out in the back near the dumpsters. Cisco assured Ransom that the night manager was cool with it. He even liked to party too, sometimes.
Cisco finally exhaled. "Hey, waitaminnit. You said that the cytology people might be able to cure some of my patients. Wouldn't that be a good reason to keep them alive?"
"Okay... But what if they aren't really alive?"
"Huh?"
"What I mean is, what if there is no person there to save?" said Ransom. "What if a person's mind can become so fundamentally flawed that it can't be fixed without tearing it apart and starting over again from scratch? I told you about me friend, Ken, right? What if they discover a way to inject stem cells into his brain so that they would repair what was damaged inside his head? But when he wakes up, he's a different person."
"But why a different person?"
"Because the only way to build a human mind, the only way to make you is for you to live your life and to have the experiences you've had. Once the place where those experiences and memories are stored becomes damaged, those things are gone, and with it, your mind and soul."
Cisco thought this over for a second. "Whoa... So like, the body is still alive, but the brain is dead... But does that mean that these people have no soul?"
"What if they don't? A human being has a soul. But if you can't think or communicate, are you really human? Are you any different than an animal? Of course, I realize that this argument could be used to justify abortion, or even infanticide. Not that I approve of either of those things."
"Hey, waitaminnit. I thought that a soul was like a ghost, or something... You wanna toke of this?"
Ransom decide to end the lopsided conversation right there. He refused the offer of THC. He wanted his mind clear for what he had to do next.

Ransom had been working for two and a half months at the hospital in Baseball City. He hated it. He never realized how much he enjoyed working at the theme parks and vacation resorts until he no longer worked there.
The micro-management at the hospital was horrible. He couldn't scratch his ass without checking with a supervisor first. The management of this particular hospital kept track of the security and safety officers movement with the hospital's server. Okay, nowadays every employer kept track of every employee's movement for every moment they're on company property. It's a protective measure. This data never even sees human eyes unless there's a rather serious problem. It's out of respect for the employees. But Ransom didn't sense any respect when he was in the men's room, and his badge went audible and asked him why he was taking so long, he was needed in the lobby.
And it wasn't just with his bosses that Ransom had a hard time. Why is society's collective memory so short? After the tragedy in San Antonio, everyone was willing to bend over backwards to help out the security people. Now the sense of cooperation was just about gone. Now people find the random vehicle searches to be just a nuisance. Ransom had nine more months before he was eligible for a transfer within the corporation. He didn't know if he could make it that long. He was sure he would curse out the next nurse that got bitchy with him just because he was doing his job.

The only joy Ransom had in his life at this point was Jesse. She no longer shut everyone out. She was back running the Superhuman League. She said that she would work harder than ever towards Superhumanity. She and Ransom were talking almost every day. And every week or two, Ransom would make the three hour drive to her home in SoFlo to see her in realspace.
Jesse had made it clear that she wasn't interested in a romantic relationship at this point in her life. So they were just friends. Friends who sometimes held hands and kissed, and even talked dirty to each other.
Why was Ransom crossing such a long distance just to be friends? Was it out of charity or obligation? That can't be it. Ransom didn't want to think to hard about it. He was too busy having fun with her.

On a week that he wasn't going to go see Jesse, Ransom got a call.
Ransom, You have 1 voice message.
First new message: Diana Cedars
It was Ken's grandmother. She wanted to know why, if I was such a good friend, haven't I visited Ken. He must miss me terribly. Yada yada. I wanted to speak to you at church, but you haven't been to church in a long time. Why aren't you going to church? That stupid old bitch.
Against his better judgment, Ransom went to see Ken.

After his massive stroke, caused by his botched suicide attempt, left him with very little brain, Ken was placed in this home near Orange City, out in the boondocks. There he spent his days with the other drooling morons who were brain damaged by accident, disease, or one of God's mistakes. There he would remain.

Ransom went to the home late in the evening because he knew Francisco Moya would be working the night shift. As luck would have it, one of the night attendants used to work with Ransom back with General Telepresence. Cisco could sneak Ransom into Ken's room after visiting hours. Also, Ransom wanted to talk to Cisco. He wanted to talk to somebody, because Ken wasn't going to be doing any talking.
When he got there, Ransom immediately latched onto Cisco and started talking about nothing that was really very interesting. Cisco talked about the Magic's new starting line up. Ransom pretended to be interested, and then agreed to hang out with Cisco for a little smoke break. Eventually, Ransom realized that he was just stalling. He had to do what he came here to do.

"Hey Ken, how's it going?"
The room was dim. The only light came from a telescreen that lit up the room as it played movies. It was playing that old one from the nineteen-ninety's, Forrest Gump. Ransom wondered if Ken thought that Forrest was a genius now.
"How are they treating you here? Is the food good?" Ken was sitting in a bean bag. He was wearing clothes that he prolly would never have worn in his former life unless his washer broke down.
"Well anyway, remember that girl you used to date, the one that dumped you? Well now I'm dating here. She say I'm ten times better in bed than you ever were." Ken never took his eyes off the screen. "Christ, why did I come here?"
Ransom walked around the room. Directly outside the window was an orange tree. It was prolly one of those designer GMO orange trees patented by HGP Biotech Corporation, or perhaps even Seventh Day. A couple years ago, they were in fashion, big time. All your yuppie neighbors would look down on you if you didn't have at least one designer GMO fruit tree or plant in your yard. Those miracle trees of modern science practically take care of themselves. The just needed to be pruned now and then.
Ransom remembered the orange tree in his grandparents back yard. When he first saw it, he was amazed because up until that point he had thought that oranges came from the store. His grandfather told him that when he was a kid, there were orange groves all over the state of CenFlo, but they disappeared to make way for urban sprawl. One year, there was a hard freeze, and the tree died. A new tree grew up from the root stock. Eventually, that tree bore oranges too, but they were small, sour, and hard. Granddad talked about cutting down the root stock tree that was bred for poverty and hard times rather than producing sweet fruit. But for the longest time it stay there as a reminder of better days long gone by.
"You know, Ken, you always were a loser. I guess it was inevitable that natural selection would take you out sooner or later. They should do you a favor and pull your plug. Well, you don't have a plug. But you know what I mean. Well, no you don't. I really think that they should put a bullet in your head and finish off what you were too dumb to pull off. But all these Christians and bleeding hearts insist on keeping you alive."
Ransom got up to leave. "It's true what they say. Life never ends up the way you think it will. Years ago I thought that about how we would be starting families and have wives and kids who would play with each other. But it's like old Forrest used to say. Life is like a box of chocolates."
Ken answered back, "You never know what you're gonna get."
Ransom turned back, wide-eyed. "What did you say? What did you say?"
Ken refused to look even though Ransom's voice got louder. "What did you say, damn it!?"
Ransom moved in between Ken and the telescreen and apparently disrupted his whole world. Ken twisted his face in an awful grimace in his first display of emotion all night.
"Ken, I know you can hear me! Say something, talk to me!" Ken began to whine and moan like a twenty-five-year-old baby.
"Hey, man! You tryin to get me in trouble?" Cisco had to physically pull Ransom out of the room. Ransom had to use every bit of restraint he had to keep himself from punching the smaller man in the face.
"He talked to me! He said a line from the movie."
Cisco put his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Calm down, man. Of course he talked to you. It's echolalia. He does it all the time."
Ransom took a deep breath. "Huh?"
"He quotes dozens of movies. He really does it all the time. Look, man, you need to calm down. Maybe you should go home."

13. Night of the Soul

2005-07-25T04:55:00.000-07:00

On the way home, traffic moved at a crawl, which was very frustrating considering it was almost midnight.
"Server, what the Hell is going on here?"
His server answered through the car's speakers. "Ransom, The State of Central Florida is repaving this road surface with a new solar power absorbing material that will contribute free electricity to the power grid. A joint effort by Fuzion Energy Corporation. Fuzion, we power the world. Also brought to you by Nippon Fullerene Corporation. At Nippon Fullerene, we're building the future one molecule at a time."
"Well thanks for warning me. Server, just tell me when it will let up."
"Ransom, traffic congestion should let up in three miles. Approximately, a twenty minute wait."
Shit. Just then, Ransom thought that he could smell something burning, like toast, or something. He became worried that his car might overheat from having to sit in traffic so long. To try and get his mind off of it, he asked his server to play a collection of songs his friend Rodney had picked out for him. Rodney had some weird tastes in music. But Ransom was in the mood for something different.
"I'm sorry, Ransom, but I am unable to connect with your home server."
"Huh? Well can you connect with Rodney's server?"
"No."
"Server, run a hardware diagnostic."
"Ransom, the transceiver is not responding. Please make sure it is connected properly."
Great. The car's transceiver is busted. That'll be a pain to fix. What a day.
"Ransom, would you like me to select some music from my onboard library?"
"Well I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"
"Ransom, warning, fuel cells are operating at a higher than normal temperature. Please take caution."
Shit. I don't believe this. Ransom looked left and right, He was completely boxed in by traffic. He figured he should just stay put. "Come on, baby. You can make it."

He got through the construction bottleneck and thought that he was in the clear. About a mile down the highway, his car began to "ping."
"Ransom, warning, please turn off motor immediately. Failure to do so could result in permanent damage to fuel cells."
Ransom pulled off the highway onto a side street flanked on either side by warehouses closed for the night. he looked under the hood and said the ef-word very loudly. Permanent damage had already been done. One of the fuel cells had overheated so badly that it melted a hole in the top of the plastic cover.
"Hey, you stupid hunk of crap, why didn't you tell me on of the fuel cells was fragged? That's over two thousand dollars!"
"Ransom, would you like me to contact a wrecker service?"
"No."
He fumed for a few seconds.
"Yes." said Ransom. "I want you to fucking call a fucking wrecker service. I was being fucking sarcastic. Why... why does everything have to be broken?"
"Ransom, I do not understand your question. Please rephrase."
"Shut up! I'm not talking to you. Why does everything have to be fucked up? Why doesn't anything work the way it's supposed to? I thought that the universe was made for order and beauty. What's the point of having a world where so many things are broken? Is shit the natural state of the world?"
Ransom felt like getting closer to God. So he stepped on the bumper and jumped onto the roof of his car.
He was yelling, pleading, arguing. "You could have attacked me instead. You could have fucked with my brain or spinal cord. I would have been fine if you went after me. But instead you went after my friends. Am I just supposed to feel guilty for the rest of my life? Why don't you just kill people instead of breaking them and allowing them to live only half a life? Do you keep them around to remind us how lucky we are? Is that what they are? Reminders? Or is this maybe just a test? You have another bet going with Satan? Are we all just some massive multi-player game for you?"
The car spoke, "Ransom, warning, you are exhibiting characteristics suggesting that you are suffering from road rage. I would suggest...
"Be quiet."
The car stopped for a few seconds. "I would suggest that you sit down and take a deep breath. You should..."
"I thought I told you to shut up!" He picked up the closest thing he could find, a hunk of concrete, and hurled it at his car. It bounced off the dent resistant body.
"Ransom, warning, you are exhibiting..."
He screamed with all his might. At that moment, there was no difference between Ransom and an animal.He charged the car with a piece of re-bar he found on the ground. To a passer-by on the highway, he looked like a strange parody of the legendary John Henry. His arms were a blur as he punished his car. The server was silent as the car absorbed the full brunt of the Ransom's abuse.
After he was finished, all the windows were broken, the body was covered with dings and scratches, and he had even managed to put a crack along the entire length of the hood.
He walked away from what was left of his car. He tossed away the re-bar and walked into a green spot covered in weeds and grasses. He leaned on the first tree he found. His breath grew ragged as he choked on his rage. Rage was only met with impotence. Then the tears came.

14. The Holiest of Holies

2005-07-25T04:53:00.000-07:00

The next night, late, Ransom pulled up to the front of Jesse's parent's house. She was already waiting at the curb.
"Oh my god! What's that smell?" she asked.
He bent over and greeted her with a hug. "It's burning motor oil. It's not so bad compared to some cars."
"Where's your car?"
"I had, um, a little accident. It's in the shop now. this is my father's 2010 Honda Civic, one of the last mass produced gasoline models."
"So is the desire to own a piece of shit vehicle a genetic trait?"
"Well why don't you drive if you hate it so much?" asked Ransom.
"I told you already. The house server will wake up my father if I take my car out this late. My father would kill me if he caught me out here right now. No. actually, he would kill you."
"Jesse, how old are you, 24 or 16?"
"You know how overprotective my parents are. I can't say that I blame them, really. It's just easier to ask forgiveness than it is to ask permission, if you know what I mean. Now let's go."
Ransom bent at the knees and back. He put his right arm in the crook of Jesse's knees and put his left arm underneath her shoulder. When he straightened up, he was struck by the sudden disparity of the situation. The intelligent, opinionated young moderator of the superhumanist forum was now a child in his arms. He felt a wave of affection that surprised and embarrassed him.
Jesse was just impatient. "Hello? You just gonna stand there?"
"Uh... sorry. I, uh..."
"What?"
"I... I think it's nice holding you like this."
"You do?"
"Yeah."
She sighed and then leaned in closer, touching her forehead against his shoulder. "Ransom, dear."
"Yes?"
"I know that you're a big strong stud. Now put me in the car before my father picks you off with his rifle."
"Heh." answered Ransom. "He can't do that while I'm holding you."
"Ah! You suck! Now put me in the car, and don't hit my head on the door."

"Ransom. You gonna tell me what's going on?"
"We're going to an all-night burrito stand, right?"
"You know what I mean. Why did you come here?"
"I went to see Ken last night."
"Jesus, what happened?"
"Nothing. Nothing happened. He's dead, gone. His body just doesn't know it yet."
"I'm sorry, Ransom. You prolly shouldn't have gone to see him. You should have just remembered him the way he was."
"Yeah. I don't know what I was thinking."
"So what was he like?" asked Jesse. "Before, I mean."
"Um... we knew each other all through grade school. We even went to the same church for a while. But we weren't really friends until I dated his sister. She dumped me, and I guess he felt sorry for me. After that, we did everything together.
"We were like partners in crime. We would sneak into football games, and sneak into Movie World without paying admission. That was before I started working there, of course. He was always the brave, reckless one. And I was always the cautious, conservative one. I did my best to discourage bad behavior, especially after we turned 18, and were punishable as adults.
"I don't think you would have liked him
"No, you would have liked him, if you got to know him. You just would have thought he was a loser. He was a thief. He could never keep a job longer than a month. He was addicted to drugs. And his room was always a mess.
"He was a great guy. He was so fucking clever.
"I mean, none of the teachers thought he was smart or motivated. But I knew otherwise judging from the enormous amount of swag he'd stolen over the years. I bet if he'd been born a hundred years ago, he could've been a professional thief and made millions. Now that security and loss prevention technology is so advanced, it's hard for anybody to steal anything. Ken used to steal bottles of liquor from this little shop on General Telepresence property. Now, I used to work for the loss prevention department at GT. Believe me. What he did takes brains and guts."
Jesse stopped him by squeezing his knee. "So I guess you had to keep an eye on him whenever he came over."
"No, Jesse. I gave him access codes to my house and my car. He never stole from friends or family. Only from corporations."
"Wow." said Jesse.
"I know it sounds like I'm making him out to be a total bum. But he wasn't like that. He had dreams. He wanted to make famous movies. Did I show you the movie we..."
"The Forrest Gump parody. Yeah, I watched it. It was funny."
"So how's your week going?" asked Ransom.
"Don't change the subject! If you want to talk about this, then talk. Talking will help you."
"I guess you figured out that I didn't come all this way to go get some mediocre burritos."
"Let's go someplace private and talk." she said.
"Like where, your room?"
"No no no. My house server recognizes you, but knows you're not allowed to call so late."
"You haven't figured out how to hack that yet?"
"Unlike your family, my parents know a lot about computers. they'll know if I tampered with the house server."
"Well where, then?"
"When I was in high school, my boyfriend and I went to the graveyard at night to get high."
"You may have been able to get away with that ten years ago." said Ransom. "But now that semi-intelligent security servers are ubiquitous, that would be impossible. You can't go anywhere without a robotic eye noticing you. I assure you that there are cameras or sensors embedded on every tree, mausoleum, and fifth headstone. We wouldn't be there ten minutes before a guard shows up to hassle us. Five minutes, if the memorial is run by Transadventists."
"So there's no place to go, really."
"I don't know." said Ransom.
"It's funny, we talked about this in my political science class. it's like a Disneyland version of Orwell. Big Brother is watching you. But as long as you behave, and keep you arms and legs inside the ride, no one is going to bother you."
"Well, I've never been to the Disneyland Historical Museum in SoCal, but I don't think it's as bad as Orwell envisioned things. There is no, Big Brother. Just a lot of privately run little brothers who keep an eye on their domain. Your house is your castle. However, ultra-sensitive detection devices are so powerful these days, even your bedroom might have an audience. Did you know that a positron emission scanner can look through your house like it's made of glass?"
"Ransom, have you been watching me shower?"
"I wish! My father used to work at this company that installed audio systems. They had these cool devices that would create a sonic barrier around your house. so no one could spy on you with an ultra-sensitive microphone."
"Obviously, everything can't be known, or else there would be no crime or terrorism."
"Good point. Wait a minute. I've been thinking, what would Ken do? I have an idea."
"What?"
"Driving along. I saw something." said Ransom.

Ransom walked through a doorway that did not yet have a door. That "new building scent" hung in the air. A mixture of dust, paint, and silicon adhesive that had not finished curing. Jesse was carrying a box of take-out Mexican. Ransom was carrying Jesse. He set her down on a chair and then ran back out to get her wheelchair.
"What do you think, Jesse, Not bad?"
"Much better than a graveyard. Kinda dark, tho."
"There's gotta be... here we go." He found a stack of cardboard tubes in the corner. Brand new telescreens. He pulled one out of it's tube, unrolled it, and flattened it against the wall. He addressed his wristserver, "Server, link to telescreen." The dark gray screen turned a soft glowing white. The word, "standby" appeared in black letters. "Mountain house window file." said Ransom. The screen turned into a picture of lush green mountaintops. The same that can be seen outside his mountain house in cyberspace.
"What is it with you and mountains?" she asked.
"I've lived in CenFlo all my life, which is flat as a pancake. I've only been to the mountains once in my life. They were so nice. I think that Heaven must have a lot of mountains. Hold on... Server, fireplace file." The mountains burst into flames. The artificial window was now an artificial fireplace."
"I like it!" said Jesse. "Very romantic. Now tell me why you chose this place."
As I was driving, I saw that this place was built by Wilbur Pagan Construction, a contractor that works almost exclusively for General Telepresence. I've worked for GT construction projects as a laborer, and a security officer. I know that when they build a building this size, they set up a temporary server on site to handle things like security, until they can install a permanent server when the building is finished."
"Did you do something to the temporary server?" she asked.
"The server will wait three minutes before it sends a signal that it has detected a trespasser. So that gives me three minutes to find the server and disrupt its power source. After that, I had twenty seconds while the server reboots to disconnect the input cables and turn on the trouble alarm. Now the server doesn't know we're here."
"Oh my God, you're a stud!"
"Thank you, thank you." He said.
"So are you sure we won't get caught?"
"I'm about eighty percent sure. The security people prolly get trouble alarms going off every night. So often so that they prolly wouldn't bother checking on them. Hopefully, the security people in charge here aren't that much more vigilant than I am. But if a patrol car pulls into the lot, I'll just make a quick getaway and leave you here."
"Gee, thanks." Jesse broke into the box of burritos which had begun to leak grease onto the newly tiled floor.
"Jesse, that burrito stand wasn't run by Transadventists, was it?"
"Don't worry, Ransom. This is real live dead flesh we're eating." She reached into the box and tossed him one of burritos.
"Thanks." Ransom bowed his head and closed his eyes.
"Uh, Ransom. What are you doing?"
He opened his eyes wide, as if awaking from a bad dream. "Holy shit. I was praying, wasn't I?"
"That's what it looked like to me."
"It was pure habit. I didn't even realize I was doing it."
"That's understandable, Ransom."
He was silent. And every second he spent silent, the lower his mood became. For the past six months, sadness had been his constant companion. It came and went as it pleased. Triggered by a word or thought, it was never far away. "I feel like two friends have died. Ken is dead, and God is dead."
"I can't say that I can relate to the death of God. I suppose that it would be painful if you've believed in him all your life. But I think that you're getting better. I think that some people need God, that they use it as a crutch. But you're learning that you don't need God. You're walking on your own without help from an invisible friend."
"Maybe you're right." Said Ransom. "But the thing is, I didn't choose this. If I had my choice, I'd still be a blissfully happy born-again Christian. But with all the terrible things that have happened, it's like God is sending me a message. And that message is, I don't exist."
She tapped her lip. "That's quite a paradox."
"Jesse, we don't have to talk about this."
"I know."
"None of these terrible things happened to me personally. I don't have the right to complain. Not to you."
"Ransom, don't piss me off. Just because I'm a cripple doesn't mean I can't empathize, okay? Understand this, no god put me in this chair. If something fucked up happens, like somebody overdosing on drugs, then it just happens. There's no reason or purpose to it. There is only the purpose we give it, after the fact."
"So you're saying that there is a purpose to what happened to you?"
"Before I was shot, my life was aimless. I was your classic slacker. I had to have my life practically destroyed to realize what was important. Sometimes I think that I didn't really start living until I almost died."
"Like a seed." he said. "Unless it falls to the ground and dies, it will never be anything more than a seed."
"Yeah... that's good. Where'd you read that, in a fortune cookie?"
"No, it's not important. I mean, it's kind of bullshit, isn't it? You could have done all these things without having to spend your life this way."
Jesse had to think for a second. "Possibly. I admit that my example is a little extreme.
"When I was in high school, I was relatively popular. I wasn't a, you know, nerd. Those kids who were fat, or short, or had bad acne. Or maybe fate had given them a weird brain structure that made them socially inept. It's the so-called nerds that are working to make the world a better place, and usually enriching themselves in the process."
"No. Stop. You are not socially inept." said Ransom. "And not everyone who is socially inept for one reason or another goes on to use their disadvantage for inspiration. I would guess that most of them don't. Shit happens. There is no meaning to it. There's no silver lining."
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Ransom, you're preaching to the choir. Just because there is a ubiquitous unfairness in life doesn't mean that there is no purpose in life. In my opinion, purpose is the only thing worth living for."
"Your philosophy doesn't leave much room for people with no purpose. What about the tard who sweeps the floor at the hardware store. I'm pretty sure that he's socially inept."
She sighed, longer and harder, "Oh, I don't know. I suppose maybe they could have adventures, like Forrest Gump."
Ransom leaned back onto his elbows and felt as comfortable with Jesse as he could ever remember being. "I once saw this movie, old old movie, about this guy who was a retard, and they performed an operation on him that made him super smart. But first they made this mouse really smart. You know what I'm talking about?"
"Charly."
"Yeah, Charly is cool. Wouldn't it be great if that were real?"
"Heh. It's funny that you mention that." she said. "That's my Prof's all time favorite movie. And that movie demonstrates why biology and biotechnology are going to be obsolete in the future."
"Wow. You really have it out for biology. Why are you such a hater?"
"I'm serious. If there existed a feasible way to improve on the human central nervous system, then nature would have found it through evolution. Either that, or if a way of making someone smarter does exist, it comes with a price so terrible that natural selection would kill off the mutant before it has a chance to reproduce. That's why the really smart mouse in that movie died. It's called Algernon's Law, which was the name of the mouse, incidentally."
"Oh. So it really is hopeless."
"Ransom, there is a purpose for the mentally deficient. Most of what we learn about the human brain is learned from studying those with brain damage and retardation. This leads to better understanding of our own brains."
"Yeah. Great for us. Sucks to be the tard, tho."
Jesse dropped her half eaten burrito into the box. "I'm not hungry anymore."
"I'm sorry, Jesse. The last thing I want is to infect someone else with my pessimism."
"Look," she said, "yes, some people suffer. There's no purpose, or greater cause afterward. But should that prevent other people from giving purpose to their suffering?"
"Of course not."
"A couple years after I was shot, I decided to dedicate my life to the evolution of Mankind into Superhumanity. Rather than let my suffering dictate my life, I determine a purpose for my suffering. And even if I die before the singularity comes and I have a chance to upload my mind into a more advanced substrate, I know that I'm serving something bigger than myself."
"So you believe in altruism? Fighting for a cause even though you may not gain anything in return?"
"Oh, but I will get something in return. It's just knowing that fills me with joy. If I work hard enough, and make a big enough contribution to the creation of Superhumanity, I'll be remembered for all time by the children of my mind. My progeny will live forever." She sat bolt upright and spread her arms out on either side. She gave Ransom a smile that her wished would last forever. She put her arms back down. "But of course, I would rather be there when it happens. But everybody wishes for something better for their children."
Ransom got up on his knees and looked her at eye level. "Jesse, the problem I see is that they won't remember you. Yes, the superhumans will know of you. But they won't know you. It's impossible."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Superhumanity will be immortal, untouchable. They will be literal gods. Jupiter Brains, or clouds of nanotech, or perhaps something altogether unimaginable. How can they possibly know what you did to bring them to life. How can they understand your hard work and sacrifice? Your dreams and frustrations? How can they know if they don't know what fear, or pain, or death is?"
"Because it's pain, and fear, and death that makes us human, right? I've heard this before."
"Oh. It's like we're back at the forum, retreading the old mind-body problem again. Sorry, Jesse."
"No, you have a point." she said. "There's a reason we keep coming back to that problem at the forum. Being able not to feel pain isn't a good thing. I can't feel any pain below my waist."
"And you can't feel any pleasure." he said without innuendo.
"Right. And I would gladly take back that potential for pain. I remember, for about two years after it happened, I refused to wear a seat belt whenever someone took me for a drive. I figured, I'm already paralyzed, what more could happen to me? Now, of course, I wear the seat belt, and take very good care of my body. I've come to realize that the body is a great thing, but not necessary. I am fully confident that the children of the mind can be realized. I just had to become something less than human to realize it."
Ransom was shocked into nervous laughter. "Less than human?"
"No legs, no genitals. I say I'm only, what, seventy, seventy-five percent?"
"Shut up, that's not even funny. You are one hundred percent."
"I can't even stand erect. Even australopithecines could do that."
"Jesse, you are one of the most human people I've ever met."
"Oh, come off it."
"It's true." With the last few comments, he had moved steadily closer to her. Now that he was close enough, he brushed his lips against her neck and the soft edge of her jaw line. She cocked her head to the side to give him better access. For a moment, Ransom wondered if she was only acquiescing to him. All doubts were dispelled when she turned and brought her lips full contact with his.
She pulled away. "Feeling better, are we?" She grinned ear to ear.
"Yeah, a little"
The smile left her face as quickly as it came. "Ransom, you're not just my friend out of pity, are you?"
"Jesus Christ Almighty, no! I love hanging out with you!"
"I like being with you too."
He couldn't help but notice how she used "like" instead of "love."
"Yeah, I know." he said.
"You know?"
"Yeah. I'm a big strong stud. You said so yourself."
"Um... yes, you are!" she was smiling again. Ransom leaned over and pecked her on the forehead. She asked, "How tall are you, six, six, six, seven?"
"Uh, six, six."
"Oh. My last boyfriend was six, seven."
"Whoop-dee-do."
"Hey, I like tall guys. I was five, eleven myself before I had to go take a seat for the rest of my life. It's a funny thing. I always wished I could grow one more inch, so I could be as tall as my older sister. Now I realize how stupid I was."
"Jesse, I can't imagine you being anything but painfully intelligent."
"Aw. Thank you. Hurm... I wonder if you're a big stud all over. You know, like, down there?"
"Oh jeez!" What's this? Was he actually blushing? "I haven't had any complaints."
"Really? Can I see?"
"Um, sure."
Ransom grabbed him by his belt buckle and pulled him close. He was surprised by her upper body strength. She undid his buckle.
"Whoa, are you serious?"
She looked up at him and gave him a playful shove on the pelvis. "Come here." she said and grabbed the collar of his shirt. She pulled him down to his knees so that they were at eye level. She put her athletic yet undeniably feminine arms over his shoulders. She ran the fingers of her right hand through his hair. They stayed like that for a long time.
Ransom broke the silence. "So...."
"Shut up and kiss me."
It was a long deep kiss. Ransom thought that Jesse was very good.
She broke away and stared into his eyes. "I get so, uh, horny sometimes."
"What a coincidence, me too." He leaned in and began to lightly explore her ear with his tongue. He brought his hand up to her breasts and used them in a way that he thought she would find pleasurable.
Apparently, she did. She cried out softly, "Oh yeah, babe. God, you know exactly what to do. I love you."
Ransom pulled back and looked at her. They were silent for a while.
She reached down her hand and undid his belt buckle again. "And this time, I'm serious."

A few hours later, Jesse awoke from sleep. They were on a makeshift bed made of the painters' drop cloths. Ransom was on his back. Jesse was on top, using his body as a body pillow. She asked him what time it was. He said it was three. She said that they would have to leave soon. He said, "I know." She fell back asleep.
Ransom had moved the telescreen from the wall to the ceiling and turned into an artificial moon roof. He commanded it to play the publicly available live video feed from the Hubble Network. The Hubbles watch the heavens face to face. They get a much better view than those on the other side of the atmosphere who watch the sky as through a glass, darkly.
He watched the stars and he listened to her breathing. He thought about Copernicus, who made the universe bigger, and said that man is not the center of it. He thought about how the Hubble's namesake showed that the universe wasn't just much bigger than we thought, it was getting bigger. And Man was getting smaller.
Ransom thought that in a place so big, there had to be everything he could ever want. There had to be the answer he was looking for.
He thought of all these things. But he paid little heed the small voice in the back of his head that warned of coming strife.

15. The Lost Theory of Love

2005-07-25T04:51:00.000-07:00

Ransom stood in a field of tall grasses that came up to his waist. At Ground Zero in The West Bank, the blue-green plants were tended and irrigated with an effort usually reserved for agricuetical cash crops. But Ransom knew that these GMO plants contained no advanced drugs, not even grains for food. The plants were basically nothing more than weeds. But even weeds have their purpose.
A woman approached him. Graceful Ashkenazic features. Early-thirties, but she looked younger. Tall, and so impossibly thin that she looked like one of those models straight out of a fashion magazine from the nineteen-nineties. Ransom knows that both she and her husband preach the gospel of a calorie-restricted diet and apparently practice what they preach.
"My good friend." She said. "Come to visit little me at my home."
"Good to see you, Tamara."
"Good to see you. I'm glad to see you spending more time telepresent on the Net. You virtually disappeared after your friend died."
"He didn't die."
"Oh. That's right. I knew that. Sorry"
"It's okay," he said, "believe me." He caused his graphic representation to brush the grasses with his arm. "This is new. You made your home site look like Ground Zero."
"My server uses a live video feed to keep the environment up to date by refreshing every couple days or so. Of course, the server uses fractal algorithms to guess where every individual plant, rock, leaf, or piece of glass goes. But this is pretty much what it looks like.

Ransom had met Tamara about three years earlier at The Parthenon, one of the first massively multi-user telepresence forums available to the public. It was a crowded primitive place contained in a pixilated artificial looking environment where everyone's avatar looked like either a male or female generic toga-wearing philosopher whose appearance could be only be customized with a dozen or so variables.
On a particularly crowded day at The Parthenon, some people gathered in a corner to discuss the evolution of human consciousness. Tamara accosted Ransom when he made the mistake of saying the words, "intelligent design," a loaded phrase that unfairly conjures up memories of ignorance and theopathy. Before Ransom had a chance to explain that he was the farthest thing from a seven-day creationist, Tamara attacked his opinions with an awe-inspiring viciousness. Ransom was impressed, and felt he had no other choice but to fight back in kind. Unfortunately, Ransom was relatively new to internet argumenteering, and he didn't come off too well.
The next day, at 1AM EST, Ransom just happened to be up and online. She called him and apologized, explaining that his views had some merit. They stayed up all night talking and stayed fast friends ever since.

"Isn't this kind of depressing." asked Ransom. "I mean, twelve thousand people died here."
She shook her head. "I think it's wonderful what we're doing here. The most ambitious phytoremediation project in history. A generation ago, the Jewish people bragged about what they did with their homeland. We made a desert bloom, they said. Always looking to outdo ourselves, now we're going to see if we can do the same with a nuclear wasteland."
"I'm surprised you can even get anything to grow out here. Are these the same plants you and your husband worked on?" She nodded, smiled, and widened her green eyes. Not a murky green, like Ransom's. A bright eerily iridescent emerald green which Tamara had once revealed to him that she wasn't born with. Her enthusiasm was infectious. Ransom loved to hear intelligent women talk. "Tell me how it works again."
"First, the ground was irrigated with an organic solution that seeped deep into the soil. The solution was cultured with bacteria that was biohacked by a different team on this project. The bacteria oxidized the radioactive metals in the soil, converted them into a form that can be readily absorbed into vegetable matter. Next came these plants. The team that Eliezer and I worked on engineered these plants to be hyperaccumulators of the specific metals that have poisoned this land. A hyperaccumulator absorbs certain minerals in quantities much greater than other plants. The roots will pull the radioactive metals out of the soil and into the blades of grass. This crop here is almost done. We'll pull up the plants and send them to the incinerator. We seed the ground again and grow another crop. Repeat steps A and B until the geiger counters stop clicking."
"Sounds easy enough."
"Easy! Screw you, pal. There's nothing easy about botanical biohacking. I am constantly in awe of mother nature's creativity. In comparison, computer science is easy."
"Oooo. Jesse would argue that with you tooth and nail." he said.
"Look, machine intelligence is easy. You write a piece of code, you tell it what to do. It does it. It's a different story with biological systems. Whether you're talking about genetic codes, or neurological networks, or whatever. There's a certain level of unpredictability."
"Why?"
"It's because there still so much we don't know about life. The genetic code is so densely complex, it's truly humbling. Single genes have multiple different functions. Sometimes they express themselves, and sometimes they don't for reasons yet unknown. And different hereditary factors can be influenced by many, many different genes. Sometimes a gene that you would never suspect can influence alleles in unsuspected ways. The nuances and idiosyncracies of DNA will take decades to understand. Lifetimes."
"Jesse's solution to that would be to create a robot that could figure it out for you." said Ransom.
"Right, Typical Superhumanist response. Let the singularity take care of it."
"Okay. But what if the singularity does take care of it?"
"If the Singularitarians are right, hey, I'll buy them all a drink. I just never bought into the concept. I mean, it's very impressive that computer processor speed doubles every year and a half. But I fear that Moore's Law is about to hit a plateau. How are they going to make processors any faster once the circuits are the size of molecules? And yes, computer hardware will very soon be theoretically as powerful as the human brain. But the software is still as dumb as dirt. The so-called artificial intelligences are just really fancy directories. It just seems so disingenuous, looking for the final discovery that will end all technology and solve every problem."
Ransom replied, "Yeah, there are way too many problems." Ransom stared out over the field. "This place makes me feel kind of ashamed. So many people died here. But I get so upset about the problems of a few people. When that bomb exploded, I don't remember feeling sad at all. I thought that yeah, it sucked that twelve thousand people died. But I didn't know any of them. And in a way, it's good for the dead, cause now their problems are over."
"That's a perfectly natural way to feel." she said. "When it happened, I lost an aunt, and uncle, and three cousins. I cried for days. But I can't imagine myself getting so upset if I hadn't have lost family. This is the human way to act. It's human to think about the one we lost, not the thousands we didn't know.
"Now think about what happened. A small conspiracy of muslim extremists combined ingenuity, luck, and evil obsession to build their so-called, dirty bomb. After they detonated it in this crowded suburb, the evil people of the world rejoiced. In their ignorance and wickedness, they danced in the streets. It wasn't just another bombing. Someone had finally broken the single day kill record set back in 2001. And they would cheer every time the death toll got higher."
"Then, there were these other people, they didn't have the bloodlust and murder in their heart, but they were still morally reprehensible. They used the bombing as a political liability. They talked about how sad and terrible it was that so many died. Then they looked for places to lay the blame. They blamed Israel. They blamed The United States. They blamed capitalism and the corporations. A few idiots said it was God's punishment for tolerating pornography, teledildonics, and homosexuals. Sometimes they were blunt. And sometimes they were quite subtle about their insinuation that the blood of twelve thousand people are on your hands. Can you see where I'm going with this?"
"Yeah, I guess. Only the bad guys talk about numbers." said Ransom.
"The Talmud says that killing one man is like killing the world. Statistics have their place. But they are of no help when dealing with grief."
"And how did you deal with your grief, Tamara?" he suddenly became embarrassed with himself. "I'm sorry. I'm not asking too much, am I?"
"No, it's okay. Grief and mourning are a good thing, as long as they have their place. There are specific periods and times for grief set up by God that allow time for healing."
"Set up by God? Aren't you an atheist?"
"Well, number one, I'm agnostic. And number two, I may not believe in God, but I'm still Jewish."
Ransom nodded, hoping he didn't just make another faux pas.
"For thirty days I avoided parties, bars, music, movies, et cetera. I said the Kaddish prayer every morning. Though I don't believe in the God of the Bible, I said the prayer as more of a confirmation in my belief that life moves, onward and upward. Afterwards, no more formal mourning is to take place, except on the anniversary. So I can't use sorrow as an excuse to get out of working. I believe that man was meant to work. Meaningful work is where we get our greatest joy. And barring the deus ex machina of a superhuman cyber-intelligence that will make us all obsolete, I see a whole universe to discover and explore."
"Hopefully, Tamara, work isn't the only thing to look forward to."
"Oh, of course not. All work and no play... you know."
"Which brings me to the ulterior motive of why I came here." he said. "Um... I need your advice, Tamara."
"My advice as an agnostic Jew, or as an experienced biohacker?"
"I need your advice as a woman."
She nodded her head once in a look of astonishment."Oh, okay. And I assume this is about Jesse, the robot worshipping Superhumanist. The girl you like."
"I never said I liked her."
"You don't have to. It's, like, sooo obvious." She started to swing her lithe hips from left to right while pumping here hands in the virtual air in front of her. "Ransom has a girlfriend. Ransom has a girlfriend."
"Stop." He was completely deadpan.
She stopped. "Ransom, you don't look happy."
"I haven't been happy in a long time. But you're right, I do like her. I think we look good together. I just wish I knew what she was thinking. She says she's not interested in a relationship at this point in her life. But, you know, people change their mind."
"So what's your question?"
He took a long breath. "How important is sex to a relationship, for the woman?"
She looked down her nose at him with disappointment. For a moment she almost lost her youthful appearance and looked like the old crone that had taught Ransom fourth grade arithmetic so long ago. "How important is it to you?"
"Important."
"Well, don't expect a woman to think that much different than you. Really, Ransom, what kind of a question is that? You don't hold some medieval patriarchal notion that sex only benefits the man?"
"No. I just want to know if a relationship is doomed if there's no sexual connection. If the man can't satisfy the woman."
"I think a relationship like that is definitely in danger. If there's a problem where they can't connect physically. When a couple realizes this, it might not be a bad idea if things don't go any further. What I don't understand is why so many fundies insist that there be no sex before marriage. It's crazy, like buying a house sight unseen. What a minute... did you and Jesse, you know, make a connection?"
Ransom answered without looking at her, "Yeah, sort of."
"Sort of? What do you mean sort of? Did you, or did you not stick you penis inside of her?"
Ransom groaned.
"Ransom, we're friends. If you want my advice, I'm gonna give it to you completely uncensored."
He crossed his arms. "Yes, but only into her oral cavity. There."
"Did you go down on her?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"There wouldn't have been much point."
"You selfish bastard! Why didn't you guys fuck?"
"There wouldn't have been much point in that either. She wouldn't have felt anything."
"Why not? Are you like, really small? Science has made tremendous strides in the area of male enhancement."
Ransom knew that saving that detail until last would be unnecessarily dramatic. But he felt the dilemma deserved more than stoic detachment. He told her about Jesse's paralysis.
"Wow, Ransom, that's different. I think that though sex would be problematic, I do think a relationship could work out if the two of you really love each other."
"You really think so?"
"Yes, I do."
Ransom was frustrated. Why did it seem that no one else wanted to make a big deal of this? There's this great wrong in the Universe that everyone else wanted to shrug off or ignore completely.
"Really, Tamara, I'm surprised. I expected a non-mystical answer from a free thinker as yourself. What is this, love, you speak of?"
"Ransom, it isn't mystical." He had abruptly put her on the defensive. She looked annoyed. "Love is a feeling between two people. It's biological."
"Then maybe you can explain why sex needn't matter when love is involved."
"I can't. I just got finished explaining to you how complex biological systems are."
"It may be hard. But it can be done. Love might be complex, but it's not holistic. If Cupid is biological, then it can be reduced. It can be broken down into rules and steps of cause and effect."
A habit when she's contemplating, she used her perfectly white teeth to play with the stud in her tongue. The piece of jewelry functioned as a bio-sensor wand. It monitored her diet and her intake of toxins; bacteria, trans-fatty acids, dioxins, nitrosamines.
"Okay then. Marriage is about more than sex. It's about intimacy, physical as well as emotion. It's about psychological support."
"So what you're saying is, love is about support? It's about need?"
"Right. Let's say, God forbid, that Eliezer had an accident and ended up in a wheelchair with paralysis that won't respond to treatment. Sex would be hard, but we would stay together."
"Because you need his support."
"Yes."
"So then you would leave him if he were unable to give you support. Right?"
"Not necessarily."
"Okay, what if he lost his job, gained a bunch of weight, and became a big fat loser?" Ransom had just described himself at age twenty-one, after his first major bout with the malaise of adulthood.
"I don't know."
"What if he becomes a drug addict? I mean, you say that love is complicated on one hand, and then you make it so cut and dry on the other."
She sighed. "These hypotheticals are pointless. I wouldn't know unless I was in that specific situation. Love is not easy. And I think that you are the one looking for easy answers."
Ransom smirked to hide the fact that he had no reply. But he wondered, what's so wrong with wanting a simple answer?
"Any more questions on the mystery that is woman you'd like me to answer?"
"No." he said
She was gracious. "Not even a question for an agnostic Jewish botanical biohacker? I would be happy to answer, friend."
Not wanting to stop talking, he asked the first question that popped into his head. "Is it true that the Jewish people advocate eugenics?"
"Throughout history, we have been the victims of eugenics, not vice versa."
"But is it true that Jews with undesirable traits are encouraged not to procreate?"
"Um... well, there's this program in Israel. It a genetics counseling program. I don't know if I would call it eugenics."
"How does it work?"
"I'm not sure." She turned her head and addressed her server. "I request audience with Hippocrates." The old greek doctor appeared instantaneously in a white toga and sandals.
"Holy crap!" he said. "I had to wait two days just to talk to this guy."
"Yes. One of the perks of being a scientist." She addressed the philosopher-bot. "Tell Ransom here about the government of Israel's eugenics program."
"Israel does not have a eugenics program." said the bot.
"Cut the politically correct bullshit and just tell us about how they prevent genetic disease." said Ransom.
"Ahem... eugenics is an offensive term, and forbidden for use by government employees and contractors. The genetic counseling program is a highly successful way of preventing genetic diseases. The program offers genetic screening free to anyone who requests it. The testing screens for carriers of a number of hereditary diseases, most notably, Tay Sachs disease. Since 2010, there has not been a single case of a Tay Sachs child born to a newlywed couple in all Israel. The results of the screening are confidential, even to a person's spouse. However, most engaged couples insist on genetic counseling before marriage."
"So basically, if we can get the right people to fuck, then we can get rid of a lot of the genetic disease out there. Then we won't have to spend so much money on treating these diseases, or even bother to find a cure. We can just wait for all the unlucky ones who already had faulty genes to just die out."
Hippocrates-bot stood silent for a good while. Ransom was sure that the semantics of his question was too much for it, and it wouldn't give him an answer. But surprisingly, the bot answered. "I think so."
Tamara shook her head. "So cynical. Cures for disease will still be sought. You know as well as I do that not all disease is caused by genetics. You can't screen for spinal cord injury."
"No, you can't." said Ransom. "But you can screen for birth defects of the spine, can't you? Hey, bot. Is there a genetic cause for spinal birth defects?"
"Yes. Neural tube birth defects, such as spina bifida, can have many causes, some genetic. Scientists have isolated genes that increase the chances of parenting a child with a neural tube birth defect. These genes are most prevalent in people of Irish and Welsh descent. Per one thousand births, spina bifida occurs more frequently in The United Kingdom than any other nation."
"And do they screen for these genes in The UK?"
"No, not usually."
"Why not?"
The bot was silent for a few seconds as he thought it out. "As I said, the genes only increase the chance of a neural tube defect. Spina bifida can only be positively detected after several stages of development. There are several causes of neural tube defects, some still not understood. With the potential stress caused by one discovering that they carry a mutant gene, it may be best to only test for genes that definitely cause disease."
"That's crazy. More children are born with spina bifida in The UK than any other nation, and the government won't do anything about it?"
"I cannot answer that query because it contains false axiom. Per one thousand births, more children are born with spina bifida in The United States than any other nation."
"No, you mean The United Kingdom."
Without the least hint of irritation, the bot said, "No, I mean The United States."
Hinting heavily at irritation as he pulled up video from a minute ago, Ransom said, "Get ready for a paradox crash, stupid bot. Cause just a few seconds ago, you said spina bifida occurs more frequently..." Then he answered his own question before he finished asking it. "Oh... abortion."
"Please try a different wording for your query."
"Abortion to prevent possible birth defects is used more often in the United Kingdom than in The United States."
It took a few seconds. "Yes."
"Go away, bot."
Hippocrates disappeared. Tamara said she had to leave to. "Peace be upon you, my friend. Good luck with Jesse. And don't give up hope."
She turned into a cloud of dust, or pollen, or something; and blew away in the wind as it made waves in the field of grasses. Once again Ransom was alone. The only sound was the wind.

16. Two Masters

2005-07-25T04:47:00.000-07:00

Okay. Move on the count of three.
Inhale. One. Two. Three...
Ransom didn't budge.
How he wished he could be a man of action, and not a man of contemplation. How he wished he could trade intelligence for happiness.
And how he wished that he knew himself better, and knew why the dilemma was so hard. All scientific logic urged him to move. While only a vague superstitious doubt held him in place.
He remembered his old friend Tony. The events that led him here would not have taken place, had he not run into his old friend a few months ago.
As he valiantly fought against his the residual memories of religious experience, the same quiet voice told him that in this world, there are no coincidences.

Ransom was walking down the sidewalk at a quick pace. He was trying to burn off enough of the energy that comes with drinking straight bourbon until he felt he was okay to drive. It was quarter after two in the morning. Christmas City. All the way on the other side of the Orlando. How the hell did he get all the way out here? Oh yeah. Jesse was busy.
Those last few weeks of summer, Jesse was always busy. She still maintained the forum. But she finally gave to a forum member named Aquinas the assistant forum administrator position. And after many months of bugging her about it, Aquinas gladly accepted. Ransom decided to give The Superhuman League a break and tried not to suspect that Jesse was avoiding him. That would be selfish, to suppose that this was all about himself.
Ransom drove around with the radio turned low. He drove until he got bored of driving, found a dive, and tied one on.
After drinking liquor, he always had a tremendous desire to talk to someone, anyone. He walked past a strip mall, noticed that one of the lights were on in one of the units. It was a coffeehouse. The neon sign said "open."
The place was cozy enough. The cliched coffeehouse design. The dim lighting, mismatched but comfy looking couches, the showcase for local artists. There was a Rodin inspired sculpture of some dude praying or something. On one wall was a abstract painting that appeared to represent the crucifixion. On another wall was a telescreen that played a piece of performance art on continuous loop. Something about an old man welcoming a young man into his home with great enthusiasm.
The old man behind the counter shot Ransom a smile that took him by surprise. Ransom re-payed the gesture by walking right into a table, falling to the ground, taking several chairs with him, and basically looking like a big jerk.
The old man bounded round the corner and helped Ransom up. Now that he was close, Ransom decided that he wasn't that old. No, he wasn't old at all.
"Look, we don't need any troublemakers in here."
"Nah, man. I'm just looking for some caffeine." said Ransom.
"You look familiar. You been here before?"
Ransom eyed the guy. He looked familiar too. "No, man. First time here. Pretty nice place you got here. All the art shit on the walls."
"Thank you."
Ransom noticed that the performance piece on the telescreen had ended and displayed the title, "The Prodigal Son."
"Why is there so much religious stuff in here?" asked Ransom.
"Well, this is a church."
"A church, you say?" Burp.
"Didn't you see the sign on the storefront next door? Harvest Reformed Presbyterian? This is the coffeehouse ministry. This church building was a grocery store up until a year ago. We moved in shortly after they closed."
Suddenly, Ransom recognized him. "Tony? Tony Callahan?"
"You do know me?"
"Ransom Archer, from youth group, Church on the Rock?"
"Ransom! I haven't seen you in years. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. Part of my job requires me to learn lots of names and faces, and my brain jumbles them up sometimes."
"Well, I didn't recognize you because you're, like, bald. Totally bald."
Tony rubbed the residual hair at his temples. "Yeah, it started falling out in senior year, high school."
"Why don't you get a cellular injection. That'll fix that right up, you know."
"I know. But it's money I'd rather not spend right now. My vanity can wait."
"But it makes you look like an old guy. At least go for the Mr Clean look. Cue ball it."
"I might do that. So, are you still working for General Telepresence?"
"No. I'm with Seventh Day, now. I'm security at the Baseball City Hospital. And what about you?"
"Assistant youth pastor, right here."
Pastor Tony Callahan? It would take a while before Ransom could believe that.
"Do you need a ride home, Ransom?"
Ransom lied. In church. He said he only had one beer.
"Well listen, we're about to close up here. But we should get together and catch up on old times."
"Yeah, we could go get a drink or something."
"I have a better idea. I'm needing a volunteer to help me move all this stuff over to the coffeehouse ministry's new location, next door where that old jewelry store shut down. Next weekend. It'll just take a few hours."
"Uh... you want me to work? For free?"
"Yes, that's what volunteer means." said Tony.
"I sort of have this moral objection to doing work without getting paid."
"Nice try, Ayn Rand. But I seem to remember how you were always volunteering to help out in youth group when we were kids."
"Yeah, but that was when I was a stupid teenager who didn't have to work for a living." Oh, who was Ransom kidding? He knew that he was forever doomed to be a doormat. It was wired into his brain. And it's not like he had anything better to do. "All right, Tony. I'll do it."

It was an eloquent service. Pastor Tony was a fine speaker. But as far as Ransom was concerned, he could have been reading sports scores, or the weather forecast.
After they moved the coffeehouse, Tony invited Ransom to hear him deliver a message at next week's youth service. There, sitting among all those smiling teenagers so unsure of themselves, Ransom went and listened to his old friend, Tony preach. Thus, absolute proof that he really was a pastor.
But back in high school, Tony Callahan was an idiot. A pothead. A straight-D student. He made well known his desire to get into the Pastor's daughter's panties, even though he didn't have a chance. The only reason he ever went to youth group was because his parents threatened to take away his car if he didn't go. And you can be sure that he would sneak out into the parking lot to fire one up any chance he got. He should be working some dead-end job saving for nothing but enough money to party the weekend away, not pastoring a flock of teenage born-agains.
It's no wonder the Christian memeplex has lasted for thousands of years. It's redemptive powers are very real. It taught people discipline and ethics. It created men like Tony, the salt of the earth. Regardless of the fact that it's core truths are really false. The uncanny ability for Christian foma to replace entropy with extropy made Ransom hesitant to tell Tony what he really thought about The Faith.

After the service, Tony asked Ransom to help him put away the folding chairs.
Ransom wasn't in any hurry. He moved one chair at a time. The sanctuary was empty, except for the two of them.
"So, Ransom. Which church do you attend on your side of town?"
"I don't have time to go to church. The only reason I came here was to see you speak."
"Well that's nice, that you came to see me. But God wants you to come to church for Him first, and then the Christian fellowship second. You know how jealous he can be."
"I don't believe in God anymore."
As a pastor, Ransom figured that he hears this sort of thing quite often. But Tony actually appears quite startled.
"I mean, I don't know if I'm an atheist, or agnostic. Maybe I'm a deist. I just can't believe in a loving Christian God. If God exists, then he hates mankind with a perfect hatred. And he has no son named Jesus."
Tony spoke after a long few seconds. "Well, Ransom, there's really no point in me asking you to help with the ministry anymore. Of course, you're still welcome."
"Really?"
"Yes. You didn't think that just because you're having a lapse of faith, that means we would cease to be friends? That would make worse than Job's comforters."
"No, I didn't. You're a good man, Tony."
"No one is good but God."
Ransom turned back to the task at hand. Most of the chairs were put away. There was trash that needed collecting. He mumbled something about how Christians shouldn't litter as he picked it up. A candy bar wrapper. Several assorted drink bottles. One of which was filled with spit. Ew. One of those disposable paper iPods. He picked it up and threw it into the garbage can across the room. Swish. Nothin but net. "So I guess I'm going to Hell now."
"Not necessarily. Lot's of people have times of doubt.
"Okay. But what if I walk out that door right now and get hit by a car, or something."
"God judges your entire life. Not just what's rolling around your head when you die."
"But what if I never recover my faith? Am I going to Hell?"
Tony nodded.
"Well, that sucks." said Ransom.
"Why are you so concerned about a place that you don't even believe exists?"
"Strangely enough, I still feel like Hell exists. But tell me this. Would God judge someone if their doubt is genuine? If they truly, sincerely believe that God doesn't exist? Why is that a damnable offense?"
"You sound like you're preaching Calvin's doctrine of predestination. Which I thought you did not agree with."
"I don't." said Ransom.
"Then why do you act like you have no choice in the matter of your faith?"
"Because I feel like I don't. I see how terrible the world is, and I can't believe in an all-powerful loving God. I just can't."
"God never gives us more than we can handle. God gives us the necessary faith. It's our choice to use it or quench it."
"Okay. So I've lost my faith. Let's say I wanted God to give me more faith. How can I get Him to give me some?"
"By obeying the Word of God. His Laws. It is sin which causes doubt."
"Sin... what? This has nothing to do with guilt." Ransom instant lost a degree of respect for Tony. He thought that maybe Tony could understand where he was coming from. But he couldn't. He can't believe that Tony is actually trying to use guilt to bring him back into the flock. It must be a wide taught strategy in Christian polemics. When you can't defend you faith, just turn the focus of the argument on the other man's personal life.
Ransom changed the subject a lot. "I saw Ken the a few weeks ago."
"At the home? I went there two months ago."
"You did?"
"Yes. He was my friend too, remember? I didn't even realize that the two of you were still friends until I saw you at the coffeehouse. I wish I had realized before how bad his life had become."
"Why did this have to happen to him? Why can't he wake up from the trance he's in. Or at least die, so there'll be some closure."
Tony shook his head. "Ken did make a choice when he overdosed on those drugs."
"But I don't think he was even trying to kill himself. If he did, he would have finished the job. I think he just wanted attention. And I don't think the divine retribution matches the crime. I've heard of people taking as much drugs as he did and recovering completely. What about Jesse?"
"Who's Jesse?"
"The girl I told you about. She lives in SoFlo, is in a wheelchair. What did she do to deserve getting shot?"
"Neither she nor her parents sinned in a way to deserve this. Ransom, nobody knows why God allows these things to happen. God's plan is above our understanding."
"Right. We mortals are to stupid to understand what's going on. We just have to have faith, no matter how much shit rolls down over us."
Only two chairs are left in the sanctuary. Ransom sits down in one. Tony takes the other chair and straddles it backwards.
"Ransom, you sound as if you care very deeply about this girl, Jesse."
Ransom's eyes scanned the room. "I do."
"Are you in love with her?"
"Um... it's complicated."
"Do you love her more than you love God?"
"Love her more than a non-existent deity? I'm sure I do."
"So... did you guys do it?"
"Um... kinda."
"So, the biblical commandment of waiting until marriage doesn't apply to you?"
"Tony, come on."
"What?"
"It was only oral."
"Ok, Bill Clinton."
"So that's it?" Ransom rolled his eyes as he talked. "That's the great sin that's causing my crisis of faith? No way. I've had my doubt way before that happened."
"I wasn't implying that. But yes, I do think this girl has something to do with your lack of faith. I think Jesse is bringing you down."
"You don't even know her! How can that be when she's one of the greatest people I've ever met? With all that she's been through, she has selflessly dedicated her life to the betterment of mankind by advancing the coming Singularity."
"Singularity?"
"Yeah. The point in time when man creates superhumanity."
"Oh jeez. Not Superhumanism." said Tony.
"What? What's your beef with Superhumanism?"
"Only that it's in complete opposition with the Gospel of Jesus Christ."
"I wouldn't say complete opposition."
"I would. You can't spell superhumanism without humanism."
"So what? Are you against science and progress?"
"I am not against science unless it's turned into a god that is placed above the true God."
"Well maybe that's for the best." said Ransom. "Science is based on logic and reason. Religion is based on myth and superstition."
"Are you just playing Devil's advocate? Science is not based on logic and reason."
"Beeyes."
"Religion is based on logic and reason. So is philosophy. Science is not. Science is based on observation of nature and empirical data. Nature follows no logic but it's own. When nature defies logic, then logic conforms to nature. Really, did anyone think it was logical when Michelson and Morley discovered that light moves at a constant speed?
"Nature is the creation of God. And it is a sin to place the creature above the Creator.
"Humanism is the complete opposite of the Gospel. It is the worship of man and man's creations. And if there is one thing that I've learned in my quarter century on this earth, it's that mankind is nothing worthy of worship. We are infinitely selfish and absolutely corruptible. Superhumanism believes that if we remove all want, we will suddenly stop acting the way we've acted from the Fall. But man is a lost cause. And humanism is the sin of idolatry."
Ransom got up out of his chair. "You say that God is good, and worthy of worship. I don't see what's so great about a God who put's people through torment just to test them. Like we're his little experiment."
"I never said that it wasn't hard. I don't mean to downplay the seriousness of anyone's suffering."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore." Ransom put away his chair and headed towards the door.
"One of these days, you'll have to make a choice between God and humanism. I pray you make the right one."
'Yeah. me too. Later Tony."

17. Dead, in the Heart

2005-07-25T04:41:00.000-07:00

Jesse called and asked if Ransom wanted to hang out one last time before school started. And just in time too. Ransom was starting to get worried.
Since their night at the construction site, their relationship had been much less intimate. Their conversations were always short and to the point. Jesse had rebuffed every request to see her in person, or even privately in telepresence for more than a few minutes. Her excuse was always that she was busy.

Ransom rang her doorbell the next morning. Her father let him in. Ransom saw luggage and packed bags heaped near the front door. Her bags.

He found her in her room, writing something with a scroll pad and stylus.
He asked, "Hey, what's up?"
"I'm almost finished packing. I'm leaving tomorrow night. Can you help me?" She didn't look up from her scroll pad.
Ransom just stood staring at her, for the better part of a minute. "You flying to Mass tomorrow?"
She finally looked at him. "Yes. Ransom. My parents... they were sorta just bluffing about making me go to school here. But this is exactly what I wanted."
Ransom nodded, expressionless.
"Can you carry that box of clothes downstairs?" She pointed at a large heavy box. "Big strong stud?"
He took it down without reply.

The rest of the day, Ransom's head was in a cloud. He went through motions like a robot. He felt as if what he was experiencing was unreal. And also, he found himself singing to himself old Christian pop rock songs from the teens for some reason.
They went to a restaurant, Ransom said he wasn't hungry. They went to a bar, Ransom didn't drink. Many times, Jesse would have to repeat what she was saying because Ransom just wasn't listening.
Ransom wanted to say what he felt, but he was afraid. He remembered the words of a philosopher who once said that once you speak something, the words are already dead in your heart. Ransom felt that by remaining silent, and lying by omission, even to himself, he could keep hope alive and avoid the inevitable.

While they were driving back to her house, he finally spoke. "Jesse, um... about what happened the last time we were together..."
A light went from green to yellow, red, then green again before she answered. "Ransom, you were just so depressed. I just thought... I just wanted you to feel better." Was that actually a tear she managed to work up?
"Oh... I see."
It was pretty much silence from then on. A half an hour later she tried to start a conversation about a robot being built that was supposedly an expert in theology.

As he prepared to return home, he was as warm and courteous as ever. He said his goodbyes to Jesse. He bent over and gave her a hug. He told her that he would miss her. She reminded him that he would still see her in telepresence.
His car's server was in good working order. But he played no music. He drove the whole three hours home in silence.

The next day at work, Ransom felt a sort of liberation. He had always suspected that his job was bullshit. Today he was more sure of that than ever before. He knew that the security servers were so powerful that the hospital's safety and security department practically ran itself. What was he but just a decoration in a quasi-police uniform? A symbol used to soothe the anxiety of people who have yet to accept the fact that the machines were taking over. He wondered how many other people working at this hospital were just as worthless as he was. Whenever he had a health problem, which was rare, he spoke to Hippocrates, or Doctor Google, or Doctor Kellogg, or some other robot. When was the last time he actually talked to a real doctor? When he was, like, twelve? What small minority of people are needed to actually keep this planet running?
He walked into the lobby of the hospital were he worked and looked around as if it were the first time he'd ever seen the place. The quotidian of day to day monotony melted away to leave the pain in his heart in high relief.
But there was one thing new. A memorial. They must have put it up over the weekend. It was a telescreen in a gilded frame. An acoustic parabola hung from the ceiling over the screen. One had to directly in front of the screen to hear the audio. Underneath was a plaque.
COMPANY FOUNDER
CLAUDE VIRUNGA
b. 1984 Kigali Prefecture, Rwanda
d. 2030 San Antonio, South Texas
"What started out as a reformation of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church turned into a movement that swept the globe. China, India, Sub-Saharan Africa, Latin America, Eastern Europe. The revival fires spread through every continent in a spiritual outpouring that has been called by some, The Third Great Awakening.
"At the cornerstone of the Transadventist movement, The Transadventist Declaration, published in 2013 by Virunga. Seven rules to live by in order that Christians may be ready for the Second Coming."
The seven points of The Transadventist Declaration appeared on the screen.
1. See to it that you preserve Liberty, that which makes us most like God in character, for all people, regardless of race, creed, or nationality. See to the freedom to worship, or not to worship, in the faith of choice, on the day of choice, Saturday, Sunday, or any other day. Keep church and state divided. And avoid the Mark of the Beast, avoid denying the rights of anyone to conduct business.
2. Repent of the sin of Sodom. Show compassion for the poor. Feed the hungry. Clothe the naked. Shelter the homeless. Pursue technology that will reduce want.
3. Recognize your body for what it is, a temple of The Holy Spirit. Take responsibility for your health. Eat wisely and avoid high-fat, high-calorie diets. Avoid abuse of drugs and alcohol. Cleanse yourself through fasting. Exercise. Always improve yourself.
4. Carry on the healing ministry of Christ and care for the health of your brothers and sisters. Have compassion on the sick, the injured, the disabled, and the mentally ill. Embrace technology which improves man's condition, yet show's respect to God's creation.
5. Remember that all are fallen. Have compassion on the incarcerated and forgiveness for those who may have made you the victim of their criminal act.
6. Keep yourself holy and follow God's Law. Avoid hate, sexual immorality, dishonesty, and theft. Love your brothers and sisters as you would yourself. Recognize that the same Holy Spirit living in you also lives in them, and that each individual has infinite worth.
7. Above all, love God. Let each work out his own salvation in fear and trembling. Follow the narrow road and accept The Lord, Jesus Christ as your personal savior. Believe in Him, and you will have life forever.
Transadventist Declaration
Claude Virunga
January 2013
Orlando

Of course, Ransom knew about The Transadventist Declaration already. Lovely thoughts, all of them. Really.
The memorial was set up next to this big painting. It was called Johnny Made Whole. It was a picture of a this kid in modern dress, with his back to the POV, getting up out of his wheelchair to give hippy, big daddy Jesus a hug. Afterwards he will presumably join the other happy frolicking kids in the background. Ransom has to walk past this stupid-ass painting every day.

He felt guilty that it wasn't Ken, or any of the other poor unfortunate people he was mourning. It was just his ego. And yet it hurt all the same. Ransom swore that he would shed no tears over this. But he might as well be honest with himself. Admit what he already knew deep inside, just so he could move on.
He loved her, and she didn't love him back

18. Robo-Jesus

2005-07-25T04:38:00.000-07:00

Several months passed. Ransom was very good at hiding how he felt. He still frequented the Superhuman League. Still talked to Jesse, but rarely more than a few minutes. The days became routine for the most part. Life passed by in a fog.

Tony had remained faithful to his word, and remained friends with Ransom, even though they wouldn't meet at church anymore.

One afternoon, they met for beers at The Fox and Hounds, an English-style pub in Baseball that's pretty nice despite the fact that it's kind of a tourist joint.
"Tony, I still think we should go to that wings place where the waitresses wear thongs and pasties."
"Quit trying to turn me to the dark side."
"Well, the way I figure it, I should lower my standards, stop this quixotic search for Miss Right, and just settle down with a nice exotic dancer."
"My wife was an exotic dancer. I mean, she wasn't when I met her. But she was at one time... Ransom, are we going to watch the game, or what?"
"I forgot my stereo goggles. And I don't like using loaner goggles. It takes too long to get them focused to my eyes just right."
"Okay, we'll just watch it in 2-D."
Tony touched the picture on the wall beside him. The dogs playing poker melted away into the din of a basketball game. The players all had pictures of bottles of chocolate milk on their uniforms. The announcer spoke, "Today's Orlando Magic Basketball is brought to you by Chocolate Dream, fine chocolate milk. Also by Fantasy World vacation resort, the world's premier family fun destination." The players uniforms suddenly changed into advertisements for the theme park.
"You ever miss working at the theme parks?" asked Tony.
"Of course. I never realized how fun that job was until I got this shitty new job. Damn. I don't even remember why I quit... Listen, I gotta leave right after this game is over. I agreed to pick up a shift tonight."
"Oh man! My wife is making lasagna tonight. When can you hang out again?"
"I dunno, Tony. Next tuesday?"
"I'm going to the old folks home."
"Tuesday night?"
"That's the only time I'll have to prepare my sermon."
"Okay, what about wednesday?"
"Wednesday I'm going to go talk with Jesus."
"Jesus... right.
Tony pulled a scroll pad out of his pocket, unrolled it, and handed it to Ransom to show him what he meant.
What would Jesus do?
Now you can ask him!
From the people who brought you Hippocrates, Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin, and Socrates. Designed with the help of over a hundred theologians from around the world. It's the new source for answers and advice to all of life's problems!
Coming October 2030
"I think it's pretty exciting. This isn't some low budget Artificial Intelligence that's really just a text search engine in fancy clothing. This thing was built by some of the world's best AI programmers."
"I dunno." said Ransom. "A Jesus-bot? Isn't that kind of, like, blasphemous?"
"Not necessarily. People have been spouting off their opinions on what they think Jesus said and meant for two thousand years now. They've just taken these opinions and uploaded them into an neural network."
"And you're going to seek audience with him?"
"It's part of the grand opening. They've invited clergy from all over the world to have special access to speak to Jesus before he goes public."
"Crazy." Ransom handed the scroll back to Tony and turned his attention to the game. But as he watched he couldn't stop thinking about Robo-Jesus. How stupid. How indulgent. You don't have to think for yourself. Just ask Jesus-bot to think for you. As technology gets smarter, America gets dumber. What a huge step backwards.
By the second half, Ransom was still thinking about it, at which point it had become irresistible. He had to see this thing for himself, if nothing, to laugh at how stupid it is. "Hey, Tony. Are you allowed to bring a guest with you to meet Jesus?"
"Maybe... why?"
"I wanna go, that's why. I wanna talk to the J-man."
"Ransom, I don't know."
"Come on, please. I'll wash your car. I'll do anything. Anything!"
"Anything?" asked Tony.
"I know what you're thinking. Yes, I will have hot gay sex with you."
"Uh... That's okay, Ransom. You can come if you promise to behave yourself."

Standing in the courtyard of the temple there in ancient Jerusalem, Ransom felt out of place with the clean-cut, conservative, evangelical crowd. These were the people he was raised around. Now they seem so foreign. And while he regarded this whole thing as kind of a joke, most of these people looked quite serious. He may really offend some people today.
Oh well.
A voice came from Heaven. "Good morning, clergy and guests from Baseball, Central Florida. You have been invited to be the first to engage in conversation with our exciting new simulated intelligence. The World Ecumenical Council, in cooperation with The Seventh Day Corporation presents, Jesus, your virtual spiritual advisor. Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient when asking Jesus a question. It may take a few seconds for him to answer due to heavy network traffic. And remember, the word of our virtual Jesus is not The Word of God, and is not meant to be a substitute for prayer and meditation."
A man wearing a smart business suit and sneakers on his feet walked out of the temple entrance to address the crowd. Ransom immediately recognized Melton Guest, world-famous, outspoken AI programmer who was the main architect of the Socrates AI. He smiled warmly and began his introduction. "A year ago, when I went to my financiers and told them that my next AI would be based on the teachings of Jesus, they laughed at me. Mainstream America is not going to support this. You're in this business to make money, not push your beliefs. You know, it's unfortunate that the our corporate leaders think that Christians are a minority of backwards, fundamentalist, anti-semitic yahoos. They said that this project would be unprofitable. But they are wrong!
"I was lucky to find the good people at The Seventh Day Corporation. They had the faith to believe in this project. And now it's finished. Now let's show the media elite just how wrong they are about Christians. Let's make Jesus the most popular AI on the Net."
Everybody cheered and applauded. And so did Ransom to keep up appearances.
Jesus walked out of the temple. Very realistic, thought Ransom. Dark Middle Eastern features. He had the beefy musculature of a carpenter who hung out with fishermen.
Ransom received a text message,
Pastor Tony Callahan and guest, Your numbers are 72 and 73. Please wait your turn before asking Jesus your questions.
Groan. This is gonna take a while. Ransom decided to wait patiently and resist the urge to wander elsewhere on the Net while the shell of his virtual self stayed in the forum.
The first question was scholarly enough. An older gentleman from a Methodist church asked, "Jesus, are you a Calvinist or an Arminian?"
Jesus-bot answered, "The question of free will and whether or not The Universe is deterministic cannot be fathomed within the current state of human knowledge. As it stands, there is no perceptible difference between a Calvinist Universe and an Arminian Universe. I would therefore urge you brothers not to be contentious over this question. Have faith that God is righteous. And avoid bothersome quarrels."
Ransom figured that this answer was as good as any other. But looking around at the Presbyterians around him, he noticed a couple of them were frowning or shaking their heads.
Many more questions were asked as Ransom patiently waited his turn. Jesus, which is the true Sabbath, Saturday or Sunday? Is it ethically okay to use stem cells harvested from aborted fetuses? What are your views on homosexuality? Can Satan perform miracles? Is it okay to use animal cellular transplants on humans? What about the death penalty? What kind of diet did you have? To what extent should parents be allowed to select the genotype of their children? Are you a conservative or a liberal?
It was sort of interesting to Ransom, to see how the robot worked. It appeared that most of the time, the robot didn't so much give definite answers to questions as it commented on the level of man's ignorance, and how we really know nothing.
Tony asked Jesus whether oral intercourse should be considered sex. That raised quite a few eyebrows. Tony turned and winked at Ransom. Ransom groaned. Jesus gave perhaps its most unequivocal answer of the day. "Yes."
Finally it was Ransom's turn.
"Hey, Jesus, um... please, give me one good reason why anyone should follow your outdated, exclusive, stupid-ass religion anymore?"
A collective cry of groans and grumbling arose from the crowd. He heard someone yell, "Sit down!" He looked at Tony, who just looked back at him and shook his head.
Ransom addressed the crowd. "We could take all these churches and tear them down to put up more hospitals, schools, domestic abuse shelters, and stuff like that. Just imagine how much better the world would be if we utilized the massive resources of the church for humanism."
Ransom swore he heard about a hundred people click the ignore button on their controllers at the exact same time. That same guy in the back kept yelling at him to sit down, which was dumb, because he was already sitting down, in realspace.
The Son of Man appeared unmoved, of course. "Let he who wishes to follow me, deny himself and take up his cross. Verily, I tell you the truth, the road of salvation is neither outdated, exclusive, nor stupid-assed. I am the way, the truth, and the light."
"How can you say you're not out dated? You died two thousand years ago, way before photography or video. How can we believe in this age of science?"
Jesus answered after about thirty full seconds of silence. "You must learn to have faith. When the great day of The Lord God Almighty comes, will you not be expected to answer to your brothers, even those who lived two thousand years ago? I have given you the gospel, expressed through the most accurate written histories of the ancient world. Place not your trust in video, which can be easily faked."
The Messiah had a point. Video is so easy to fake these days that it's not even allowed to be used as evidence in courtrooms anymore. It would be silly to ask for 3-D holographic evidence of Jesus. Ransom was impressed by the robot's intelligence. But he wasn't finished yet. "Well if you aren't outdated, you're certainly exclusive."
"I have come to bring salvation to all men, first the children of Isreal, and then the Gentiles. The Lord is no respecter of persons. There is no man or woman in the Kingdom of God. Only those who worship the Lord in spirit and truth."
"Christianity discriminates against the handicapped." said Ransom.
Jesus stood still for a full minute. "That which you do to the least of these, you do also to me. God requires that you care for all his sheep, especially the infirm."
"I didn't say infirm. I said handicapped. You know, crippled, the differently-abled? Tell me this, why is it you never see a preacher in a wheelchair?"
A man with a thick southern accent yelled, "God doesn't have to be politically-correct." Ransom resisted the urge to turn around and tell the moron to shut the Hell up.
Jesus wasn't answering, so Ransom continued to address it. "A holy man can be anything. He can be black, white, Chinese, Native American, Arabic, Jewish, male or female, gay or straight. Hell, he can even be an atheist. But the one prejudice Christians won't give up, the one illusion they won't relinquish, the one unforgivable sin is a preacher in a wheelchair."
This time, Jesus stood still for a minute and a half. During that time, an older man told Ransom, "Look son, maybe these questions are better suited for a human. You're causing the robot to freeze." Ransom replied that they had warned about delays due to high network traffic, so it wasn't his fault. He wasn't the only one asking Jesus questions. That guy in the back was still yelling at Ransom to sit down.
"You should not judge God by the actions of people." said Jesus. "The unfair discrimination you speak of is the product of mortal man, who is corruptible."
"Well I don't know if you've noticed this, but everybody in this forum is a mortal human, except you. So how do you expect us to act? I'm sure that it's all good for you when you see a cripple and feel bad for them. You simply use your magical powers and tell them to stand up. But we can't do that. So what are we supposed to do?"
A full two minutes later, Jesus said, "The Father calls you not to conform to this world, but be transformed by the power of his spirit and his word."
"Oh really? Well I must be missing something when I read the Bible. I mean, how many of the great biblical heroes were disable in some way or form? Um, Samson was blind, yeah, right before he killed himself."
"Some scholars have speculated that when the apostle Paul described the, thorn in his side, he may have been describing a disability, such as a lame leg."
"So now you're just going to speculate? Come on, Jesus. You're going to have to do better than that. the only cripple in the Bible are the ones who are healed in the very next verse. So with all the healings and miracles, what else am I supposed to get from the Bible but an implied hatred of the lame, blind, deaf, or anyone who isn't perfect?"
Three minutes. "The Word of God does not endorse hatred of anyone. And it is not to be used to make anyone feel excluded."
"How can you say that? How do you know how anyone feels? You're just a fucking robot!"
the Jesus-bot froze for one minute. He looked as if he were about to speak, but instead he just smiled. His face took a look of joy that bordered on beatific. Then something happened that Ransom had never seen before. The digital avatar of Jesus began to distort and pixellate. He changed all different colors. And then he disappeared.
"What happened?" asked Ransom.
The old man who spoke to Ransom before knew. "System crash."
"Crash?"
"Don't worry son. It used to happen all the time, back in the day."
The voice from heaven, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are unable to support the simulated intelligence due to an unknown error. We at The World Ecumenical Council and The Seventh Day Corporation apologize for any inconvenience and thank you for using Virtual Jesus."
"I don't understand. Why can't we just access it through a different router or something?" asked Ransom
"You don't understand." said Tony. "It wasn't just our connection that went down. The whole network crashed. Robo-Jesus is kaput. Man, the executives at Seventh Day are prolly pitching a fit right about now."
"Jesus is gone?" said Ransom. "Damn, and I was just starting to have fun."

Later that evening, Ransom amused himself by reading his hate mail.He had received about a dozen e-mails from pastors who wanted to counsel him or simply rebuke him. Some of the people sounded real sincere. A couple people just messaged him to say, hi, if you don't repent your rebellious disobedient ways, you'll burn in Hell for all eternity, have a nice day.
The feminine voice of Ransom's server spoke, "Ransom, I have detected an unusual amount of upload activity.
"Show me the upload log." A white window appeared suspended in mid air in front of Ransom's face. He was shocked. Someone was pulling loads of data off his computer. He didn't think that he had so much interesting stuff on his server's storage. "Server, is all of this information from my public storage space?"
"No, some of the information is labeled, personal, or, private."
"What? Stop the upload!"
"Ransom, I am attempting to stop upload activity. Attempt has failed." Ransom opened his transmission meter. The upload meter was solid, all the way in the red. Data was flying out of Ransom's server as fast as possible through all modes of transmission, cable and wireless. After a few minutes, the upload meter dipped back down into the green, and the upload levels were at the normal rate.
"Server, show me a summary report of the upload."
Ransom wanted to see what all this mystery hacker took from his server. But when he saw the size of the upload listed at the top of the summary, 4.7 petabytes, he knew he didn't have to look at the rest of the report. Some unknown source had hacked into his server and read every single bit.

19. No Coincidences

2005-07-25T04:37:00.000-07:00

It was a boring day at the hospital in Baseball, CenFlo. It was plenty busy in the hospital. There was just nothing for the security people to do. Ransom was in the parking lot headed for the break room when he heard Julius, another officer who was walking with him, curse loudly.
"What is it, Julius?" It was an old car parked in the executive parking lot. Julius ran to go look at it. He appeared to be salivating.
"My grandpa used to have one of these. A 1978 Dodge Charger, perfect showroom condition!"
"Yeah." said Ransom. "It looks like it should be in a museum."
"Holy shit! Ransom, look at the tires."
"What? They're black."
"These are Fukuyama brand Immortal tires. Each tire is worth more than the whole car."
"Immortal tires?"
"It's a new technology. There are tiny veins in the tire that run out from the hub. They carry rubber molecules out to the edge of the tire and rebuild the tread lost from driving. These tires never need to be replaced."
"Sounds convenient." said Ransom.
"Not totally." An older man approached the two officers an leaned on the hood of the car. "Every six months of regular driving, one has to remember to refill a small reservoir under the hood with a hydrocarbon feedstock. These tires were a gift to me from The Nippon Fullerene Corporation. Right now, they are working on a tire that would make rubber without needing a feedstock. It would utilize carbon dioxide and water vapor absorbed from the air."
"This is your car?" asked Julius.
"Yes." he answered.
"I'm sorry sir. These spaces are reserved for hospital administrators."
"I am an administrator."
"But every car needs a decal on the windshield. This car doesn't have one."
The man sighed. "Why are young people always so eager to sacrifice the spirit of the law for the letter of the law?"
While Julius and the man were speaking, Ransom pointed his wristserver at the man's face and asked it to search the employee database for the man's face. After a second, the watch beeped, and Ransom looked at the display.
Dr Atom Dacron, MD, CD
Senior Vice President
World Healthcare Division
Seventh Day Wellness Corporation
Special Note: In 2025, Dr Atom Dacron, along with three collegues, won the Templehouse
Prize for the Advancement of Science and Religion for his role in developing the QGT, Quantum Gravity Tomography, the most advanced medical scanning technology known to man.
"Hey, Julius. I think it's okay for him to park here. He's like our bosses, bosses, bosses, boss."
"I think you forgot a few bosses. But that's fine. Hello, I'm Dr Dacron. But you boys can call me Atom."
"Sorry for the inconvenience, sir." Ransom nodded and turned to walk away.
"Actually, I would like to speak to one of you. You, Mr Archer."
Ransom looked at Julius and shrugged. Julius left. Ransom suddenly started to worry once he realized that his name tag didn't give his last name.
Dr Dacron made his way around the classic muscle car and opened the passenger side door. "Let's take a ride, Ransom."
"Uh... where are we going?"
"I want to talk with you about something. We're gonna take a ride down to my office, in downtown Orlando."
Ransom couldn't believe it. Why would a top level executive of a Big Ten corporation, a man who prolly had more power than the governor of Central Florida, want to speak with him? Might as well ask. "What do you want to talk about?"
"About how you cost our company over a hundred million dollars in revenue."
"What?"
"Calm down. A hundred million dollars isn't as much money as it used to be." Dr Dacron started up the Charger. The sound of the primitive carburetor-fed gasoline engine starting up sounded deafening to Ransom. "Are you getting in, or not?"

Ransom had that vague feeling of angst, that feeling that he was in trouble, but he had done so many things wrong in his life, he didn't know what exactly had finally caught up with him. "What is this about, sir?"
"You're an intelligent young man." said the doctor.
"Huh?" said Ransom.
"I said that I think you're a smart young man."
"I'm a college dropout who makes sure people don't park illegally for a living."
"So you have problems applying your intelligence for practical means. Don't underestimate people because they have a lazy job."
Lazy? Who the Hell does this guy think he is? Someone apparently rich and important, thought Ransom.
"Most people, college degree or not, cannot name the Big Ten corporations off the top of their head. Funny, considering these ten corporations hold so much power." said the doctor.
"Uh..."
"Go ahead, Ransom. Name all of the Big Ten."
"Um..."
"Humor me. I'm old. Name all ten corporations, their world headquarters city, and their main industrial product."
"Okay... United Cell and Clone, Shanghai, they produce donor cells, tissues and transplant organs."
"Okay."
"World Motor Company, Detroit, cars, vehicles. Terra Pharma, Raleigh Durham, pharmacueticals. ABM, San Francisco, computer hardware. EuroSpace, Stuttgart, aerospace jets and satellites."
"That's five. Five more."
"General Telepresence, New York, media. HGP Biotech, Boston, gmo livestock and agriculture. Fuzion Energy Corporation. Houston, energy. Nippon Fullerene, Tokyo, electronics and nanotech."
"And last but not least."
"Seventh Day Wellness Corporation, Orlando, health care and opium."
"Opium?" Dr Dacron took his eyes off the road to look at Ransom. "Seventh Day does not produce opium. Okay, I think we subsidize one small farm in Afghanistan. But compared to Terra Pharma Company, the amount we make is miniscule."
"I mean the opium of the masses. Seventh Day owns the Transadventist Church, which is now the largest Protestant denomination in the world."
The doctor looked angry. Ransom didn't care. He could argue all night long on the Net. Why not real life? He had nothing to lose.
"Seventh Day does not own the Transadventist Church, it's the other way around, and you know this."
"Okay."
"My point," said Dr Dacron, "in getting you to name all ten corporations was to remind you that each of those corporations carved their massive domain out of the economic upheaval of the teens through innovation. For example, World Motors perfected the fuel cell powered engine. And in the teens when most of the computer hardware industry believed that Moore's Law would be broken by the skyrocketing cost of improving processor manufacturing, ABM in California used nanotech assembler technology to create smaller transistors. And they took processor technology to a new dimension by assembling the circuits into crystal lattice structures, instead of conventional flat microchips. Innovation is not just good for a business. It's vital if a company expects to survive."
"Gotcha."
The doctor looked at him incredulously. "I suppose you think it's wrong for a church to run a business. Even if that business is non-profit."
"How many Hindus or Muslims does your company have on your board of directors?"
"Hmmm. Two Muslims, would you believe? You should know that the Transadventist church believes that religious liberty is essential for salvation. We take freedom very seriously. We do not believe in pushing our religion on anybody. Which is why when the Transadventist Church incorporated Seventh Day, it established a strong policy of separation of church and company."
"Except when it comes to money. You guys raid the Transadventist coffers whenever you need to acquire another hospital. How is using religion to build a business considered innovation?"
"We make it clear to church members that a certain percentage of the offerings and tithes go to the healing ministry." Dr Dacron sighed, "The American people were sick and disillusioned with the power-mongering of the Christian Right. When spiritual hunger became stronger than ever before in the early twenty-first century, people turned to the Transadventist Church which stayed true to the original spirit of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church, in that it treated the separation of Church and State as a spiritual imperative. That's where the innovation comes in. Even though it's an idea as old as Jesus himself. We refuse to use our assets to influence government and whore our church for political power. The Adventist Church was founded by members of the body of Christ who refused to compromise their faith in exchange for control."
"I thought that the Adventist Church was founded by a seventeen year-old girl who couldn't get over the, Great Disappointment." said Ransom
"Ah... Okay, you know your history. But you know that the Transadventist Church is a reformation of the Adventist Church. So characterizing us by nineteenth century millennialism would be as misplaced as blaming the modern Vatican for the persecution of Galileo. We did away with the old heretical dogmas. Adventist founder Ellen White is recognized as the flawed human she was, and not considered a prophetess. We don't look down on Catholics and Sunday-worshiping Protestant brothers. And we no longer presume to set dates for the Day of the Lord Almighty. Can other Evangelical churches claim that they've done away with their heresies? Take the old family values heresy for example."
"Family values is not a heresy, doctor." said Ransom.
"Family values are very important. An undeniable part of God's plan. But any values that become so esteemed that they are placed over love and obedience to God, they become an idol. Is it right to deny homosexuals their basic needs, like health care and employment, in the name of family values? Wasn't Jesus who said that you must hate your family for the gospel's sake? And what about the other dogmas that seem to overshadow the gospel in the modern Evangelical church? School prayer. Creation science. What about the pro-life movement?"
"No matter how much of a pretty picture you try to paint of Seventh Day, it doesn't change the fact that it's a business. It's biggest concern is money." said Ransom.
"You can call it one thing, but I can call it another. It's the healing ministry of Christ."
"It's interesting how you doctors like to compare yourselves to Jesus."
"There is no way we can be like Jesus. It's futile to think we can heal the world on our own. But until He returns, we must strive to follow His example. We must bring health and healing as much as possible to the world, and treat each patient as an individual of infinite worth."
"I bet that your finance department has no trouble assigning a dollar value to these infinitely valuable people."
The doctor let out a sigh, almost a growl. "How loud do I have to yell for you to hear me over your youthful cynicism?"
"Why don't you just show me whatever confession I need to sign so that you can fire me and we can get this over with."
The doctor was silent for a while. "Do you believe in coincidences, Ransom?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"I don't. There are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. For example, when a poor African immigrant came to my clinic for a QGT scan, who knew that we would become friends and he would make me a part of an organization that would change the world?"
"Claude Virunga." said Ransom.
"The most extraordinary man I've ever met. Not a perfect man, by any means. But his fervent faith could move mountains. Three years ago, when he won the Templehouse Prize for the Advancement of Science and Religion, he gave the entire ten million dollar prize to medical research. He didn't keep a single penny. Does this sound like someone who's biggest concern is money?"
"No." said Ransom.
"I've been looking for the right man. When you came to my attention after causing our company to lose so much money, I foolishly thought that it was only a coincidence that we had met before. But when I saw that you were also an employee of Seventh Day, I knew that this was God's will."
"Wait, we've met before? When?"
The doctor took his eyes off the road to look straight at Ransom, "Data."
Ransom was speechless.
"You see, Ransom. I didn't come to fire you. I wouldn't have bothered with that. No. I brought you here to offer you job. A job for which you will be well compensated. But a job that has risks, including including the risk of loss of life." By this time, they had reached Dr Dacron's private parking space in the garage. The gasoline fired engine shuttered mightily when he switched off the ignition.
"What job?"
"Not yet. Your lack of faith is a problem. I need to make sure you know the full scope of my dilemma." The doctor got out of the car. He headed towards the stair and motioned for Ransom to follow. "Come on. I have much to show you."

20. Project Beatrice

2005-07-25T04:32:00.000-07:00

Dr. Dacron's 105th floor office was rather small for a man who was prolly more powerful than the governor of CenFlo, thought Ransom. He sat down in a chair that appeared to be made out of a single piece of glass.
"The furniture in my office was a gift from the president of Nippon Fullerene. Each piece is made of diamond, nano-compiled, assembled in their factories atom by atom. Thirty years ago, that chair you are sitting on could have been cut into individual stones and sold for hundreds of millions of dollars, which was a lot of money back then."
"It isn't very comfortable."
The doctor ignored him. "Now then, where was I... The Seventh Day Wellness Corporation. Our business is health. We own eighty-five percent of all the hospitals in the world, ninety-five percent in the United States. Ninety-eight percent of all doctors in the world have been contracted by our company at one time or another."
"Doc, I heard all of this during orientation, when I was hired."
"Let me finish. Now earlier you accused Seventh Day of raiding the Adventist coffers. But we just don't manage hospitals. We also fund innovative research. Our corporation owns the patents on many new technologies. We lead the world in therapeutic cellular treatments derived from adult stem cell technology. Our donor cell banks are the largest in the United States. We are the field of cytology, along with United Cell and Clone in China."
"UC&C owns about three fourths of the cytology field." said Ransom. "And they own most of the hospitals and health care facilities that you don't own."
"Yes, they are our biggest competitor. At one time, UC&C had no competitor. Their dominance of the cellular therapy field was unquestioned. But we, as Christians, could not accept their dependence on embryonic stem cells. We went in another direction and poured our efforts into adult stem cell technology. We revolutionized the industry. We showed that healing can come from a person's own body. We made adult stem cell therapy a viable option for our patients. The people responded and made the cytology department of Seventh Day number two, and soon to be number one in the world."
"You guys did that by convincing people that UC&C profits from abortion, and that buying stem cells from them, and not you, is like buying a one way ticket to Hell." said Ransom.
The Doctor ignored him and went on. "Not only did we innovate the field of cytology. We've also thrown our hat into the world of genetic engineering and have been successful there too. We own the patents on many strains of genetically modified food crops and agricueticals. Sanitas Foods is the worlds largest producer of health foods and a subsidiary of Seventh Day. Part of the reason they dominate the health food industry is because through genetic modification, they have made healthy foods even healthier. Seventh Day owns the patent on the most popular breed of GMO livestock ever invented, the Endorphinated Milk cow breed, which I'm sure you've used. The milk from these cows contains a natural narcotic which can be used for medicinal purposes, or diluted with regular milk and drunk casually."
"These are just more example of how your company pushes its religion on people." said Ransom.
"What now?" asked Dr Dacron.
"Well, as I understand, people used to be afraid of food that came from a GMO. They considered genetic modification to be synonymous with, poisoned. They wouldn't listen to the godless secular scientists who said that GMO's go through rigorous testing before they are allowed to be sold to the public. But you guys told the public that it was okay to tinker with the genetic code of plants and animals. In fact, God decreed that right when he gave us dominion over the earth. Once again, the religion that says, blessed are the poor, turns out to be very profitable indeed."
The doctor shook his head. "The Christian Church has no greater enemy than its own ex-faithful. But I'm not finished yet. Do you know why we've been discussing world corporate politics?"
"I thought we were killing time."
"No, Mr Archer. It is because I want you to understand the nature of the beast. Global corporate consolidation has been a long process. At the turn of the century, only five corporations controlled practically all of the world's media. Now, only ten corporations control ninety percent of all private business and industry. Ten companies, seven American, one European, one Japanese, and one Chinese. However, the Big Ten are so globally widespread that matters of nationality hardly matter anymore. Corporate rule has created a world without borders. The dream of The United Nations has been realized. That is, if the United Nations still existed.
"When I was your age, Mr Archer, politicians would feign disinterest or hostility towards corporate interests. But now, such posturing is virtually non-existent. Corporate lobbies and special interests are what determine elections now. And most politicians freely admit the mantra of modern government. What's good for General Motors is good for America."
"General Motors?" asked Ransom
"Oh, sorry. Now it's World Motors, isn't it. They bought out GM in 2014. Anyway, for the past thirteen years, the better part of you life, Mr Archer, world corporate power has been static in the hands of the Big Ten. You probably think things are going to stay that way. But you'd be wrong.
"Now, of the Big Ten corporations, only one is Christian. Only one is not for profit. Only one will consider business in no other way except as to how it can glorify God. Only one gives at least ten percent of all its profits to corporate sponsored welfare, faith-based initiatives of all faiths, and non-faith based initiatives. Only one framed it's corporate mission statement in the form of a prayer." Doctor Dacron pointed at Ransom.
"Gee... Seventh Day Wellness?"
"Change is coming, Mr Archer. The Big Ten are so interconnected that if one suffers, all will suffer. Fuzion Energy, Eurospace, and World Motors have so many business alliances that one could convincingly argue that they are only one company. Sometime in the future, soon, global corporate consolidation will take its final step."
Ransom looked suspiciously, "One world omni-corporation."
"Correct. And there is much doubt as to what kind of influence Seventh Day will play in the New World Order. Of course, Health care will always be necessary. There will always be need for hospitals. But there is one corporation that could possibly take our place and absorb our organization."
"The Chinese." said Ransom.
"Well, yes. United Cell and Clone. Now don't get me wrong. There are many American employees at UC&C. And there are many more Chinese who work for us. But yes, the Chinese pose a great threat to us. They were none too happy when we took a large chunk of the stem cell industry away from them. They have had it out for us ever since. Last year, we were forced to sell five hospitals on the Indo-pakistan continent. And guess who jumped up to buy them. UC&C. The bottom line is, Seventh Day is in trouble. We are steadily losing money. Financial experts predict that at this rate, we will be the smallest of the Big Ten within a year. And the prevailing opinion among our leadership is that we need to expand our cytology department if we want to stay competitive. What we need is Beatrice."
"Project Beatrice?" asked Ransom.
"You've heard of it?"
"I once overheard a couple doctors mention it at the hospital in Baseball. They didn't really say anything about it."
"We are hoping that Beatrice will revolutionize medicine. But it disturbs me that you've heard of it. That just shows that our security heads are not paranoid. Hmmm." The doctor stood up and paced the room. "We are limited by the fact that our cell banks and our cellular therapies rely solely on adult stem cells, while UC&C uses both kinds of stem cells, but relies mostly on the embryonic type."
"So why not start using embryonic stem cells like UC&C?" asked Ransom.
"Absolutely out of the question. Seventh Day will not profiteer from abortion." The doctor walked to the window behind his desk. "Like the view?"
"Yes. I could see my house from here, if we were facing the other direction."
"It's smart-glass." The doctor cocked his head to the side. "Server, retrieve picture file, abomination one."
The window turned opaque for a moment. The office went dark until it was lit up by a picture that made Ransom want to vomit. He'd seen it before. The picture was famous. It had been all over the Net. No one didn't think it wasn't totally revolting. In the picture, it was a large white rat with obvious deformities. It had five legs. One of the legs was bigger than the others. It was pink and hairless. It didn't have claws. Instead it had five chubby digits, one of which appeared opposable. On the rat's back was a large pink hump. There were distinct features that gave structure to the hump. It was a perfectly formed infant human face.
I'm sure you've seen this before, Mr Archer. This picture was taken by an unknown UC&C employee five years ago. It cost the company untold billions in bad publicity. They are still trying to spin this monstrosity into a simple mistake, no big deal... This is what we are fighting against. This is the spirit of disrespect, of sheer hatred against the dignity and value of human life. When I was a child, China was still a communist totalitarian regime where Christianity and any other faith was illegal. That godless spirit still exists in that nation. Does this not make you angry?"
Ransom put his hands up."Hey man. I don't like abortion either. And I definitely don't like rat-man up there. But I also don't want to look like one of those anti-abortion wackos, like those guys in San Antonio."
"See, that's our bad publicity. Because of our pro-life stance, we are considered guilty by association. The actions of a few extremists are sending patients to UC&C for their cellular therapy. Most people don't even know what our official stance on abortion is. We are against it, but we allow women to make their own choice. And we don't condemn those who opt for abortion. We just refuse to profit from it. That would violate our beliefs. And what does it profit a man to gain the world and lose his soul?"
"So what are you guys gonna do?"
"Seventh Day's cytology department will start using embryonic stem cells."
"But I thought you just said...'
The Doctor stopped him with an upheld hand. "When a person is sick or dying, and they need cellular therapy of some kind, what we would do is extract bone marrow, or some other type of adult stem cell from the patient, de-differentiate and culture the cells in a bioreactor. At UC&C, they would clone the patient, destroy the clone embryo, and harvest the embryonic stem cells. These methods are ideal because in either case, the stem cells match the patient's genetic code, therefore won't be rejected by the patient's immune system. From there we can inject the cells into the patient, or use them to grow a tissue culture, or even an entire organ.
"The problem with this is that it takes time and money, something that a lot of patients don't have. So what we are forced to do is search our cell banks for donor stem cells that closely resemble the patients somatic cells. UC&C has a bigger and much more varied cell inventory than Seventh Day. You still with me?"
"Sure, doc."
"A human cell is covered with molecular markers which allow the immune system to identify it as a somatic cell, rather than a foreign body. The alleles that code for these markers are found on a locus called the Human Leukocyte Antigen.
"Project Beatrice is an effort to modify and delete certain genes of the HLA until the polypeptide markers created would be accepted by any persons system. And at that, I am happy to say, through great effort and expense, we have succeeded."
Ransom thought about it for a moment. Then it hit him. "A universal donor cell. That'll change the entire industry. Affordable and readily available cellular therapy for everyone. No more worry about transplant rejection or dangerous immuno-suppressive drugs."
"See, I told you you were smart."
"But in order to get these stem cells," continued Ransom, "you need an embryo with the modified genome. And that embryo has to die."
"Ransom, I had agonized over the decision on whether to fund Project Beatrice. I have prayed and fasted. Sometimes we are forced to make hard decisions where the difference between right and wrong is not so easy to see."
"So what does this have to do with me?" asked Ransom.
"Your job offer. I will ask you to accept an assignment where you will literally be risking your life. I would completely understand if you turned this down. If you do, you may return to your normal job as if none of this ever happened. Should I go on?"
"Yes."
"Corporate intelligence tells us that knowledge about Project Beatrice has been leaked to any number of sources. And according to reliable informants, their are concerns in the biotech black market that would be very interested in something like Beatrice. I really can't say as to what length someone might go to steal Beatrice. But if the criminal effort is funded by the Chinese, the lengths would be very far indeed. We believe UC&C would rather have something like Beatrice available from the black market before it's available from their main competitor.
"In two weeks time, Project Beatrice will enter its final phase. Beatrice will be conceived. The embryo will be allowed to grow for approximately six days. On the seventh day, no pun intended, Beatrice will be frozen and transported to a bioreactor where we will harvest its stem cells, culture them, and mass produce them.
"In order to produce the massive amount of cells we need, we need to transport the frozen embryo from our lab here in Orlando to the most efficient bioreactor in existence. As you can guess, transportation poses a security risk."
"How much of a risk?" asked Ransom.
"Unknown. I know that we have spies working for us who are providing information to UC&C and to black market dealers. But even more shocking, corporate intelligence tells me that there are among us agents of terrorist organizations like Judgment Force."
"The guys behind the San Antonio attack."
"Yes. And on top of all of this, there are people, executives, leaders, who do not want Seventh Day to have anything to do with Beatrice. They believe it's murder, plain and simple. They believe they are doing the right thing in doing everything possible to see Project Beatrice fail. Stonewalling funding, openly criticizing the project. I'm in quite a bind. There are very few people I can trust.
"My plan is to get Beatrice to the bioreactor before anyone who means harm even knows that it's left the building. Have an undercover armed courier transport the the embryo while a few of the most trusted members of corporate security watch at a distance using encrypted tracking. I need to recruit someone new to do this. Someone not known to corporate hierarchy. Someone who would appreciate the gravity of what we are doing, and then get the job done. Someone who can be trusted."
"You want me to be the courier?" asked Ransom.
"I want you to take the future of this company and perhaps the health of the entire human race into your hands for a few hours."
"And there's a chance I could be robbed and killed."
"It's not likely, by any means. But we're on orange alert here.
"It's very simple. You pick up Beatrice. Take it to the bioreactor location, by car, then by supersonic jet. Drop it off. We put you up for a night in a one hundred thousand dollar hotel room. And then you go home."
"One hundred thousand dollars? You're joking."
"No." said the doctor.
"There no hotel in the world that costs one hundred thousand dollars a night."
"No, there isn't."
"Then what are you talking about?" asked Ransom.
The doctor cocked his head. "Smart glass, magnify." The opaque windows in Dr Dacron's office became clear again. The doctor walked up to the window and touched a point on the eastern horizon. The window zoomed in on that spot. Ransom was able to see all the way to the coast. He could see the obsolescent structures of the launch pads, and the massive face of the Vehicle Assembly Building. The window zoomed a little bit closer. Ever so faintly, Ransom could see the jet trail of an aerospace vehicle flying off into the exosphere.
Ransom was dizzy. It suddenly occurred to him that he could be living every child's dream. "Space? I'm delivering Beatrice to a space station?"
"The space city on Kilgore Station." aswered the doctor. "The bioreactor we built there is the most efficient known to man. Something about the low gravity, it allows us to culture cells up to ten times faster."
"Okay, I'll do it." Ransom stood up, "I'll do it."
"What about the risk?"
"I'm not afraid. I don't really have anything to lose."
"Whoa. Not so fast. You answered that way to quickly. We still have lots to talk about. You being in a state of fearlessness is not what I want. I want you to be afraid. I want you to have a fear that will inspire your faith. So sit down, son. We have to talk about your faith."
Ransom sat down. "Faith? You can't offer me a job and then rescind the offer because I don't have faith in God. That's illegal."
"Not to mention immoral. But that's not what I'm doing. If we discuss your faith in God, that's only for my personal benefit. But as an executive officer of this company, my only concern over offering you this job is whether you have faith in this corporation and what we are doing. Now, the one question you've failed to ask is, why me?"
Ransom shrugged. "Okay, why me?"
"It is a good strategy to take an adversary and make him an ally so that he can work for you."
"I'm an adversary?"
"There are a good number of people in this company who are very angry with you. You may not realize this, but Seventh Day has a department dedicated to research into the field of artificial intelligence. our commitment to AI research is modest compared to the effort put into it by other corporations, Nippon Fullerene for example.
"Recently, this department lost a lot of money. A hundred million dollars is a very rough estimate of the amount of money it will cost to do a quick and total rebuild of the Virtual Jesus simulated intelligence network, to mount a massive PR campaign to promote the new Virtual Jesus, and to spin the failure of the first Virtual Jesus. Now when that much money is lost, people want someone to blame. And some say that you should be blamed."
"Me? The Robo-Jesus? How is that my fault?
"The Jesus simulated intelligence was based on the Socrates neural net. The team who developed it wanted to make Jesus bigger and better than the Virtual Socrates. In fact, they wanted it to be the most advanced, quote, unquote, smartest, AI ever built. They had no delusions of this Jesus thing passing the Turing test and becoming a true human-level AI. But their limited ambitions were not limited enough.
"Now, I'm no expert in cybernetic intelligence systems. But as I understand it, they made the Virtual Jesus too smart. An AI needs a certain level of stupidity, or it will simply refuse to work. When Jesus stopped working, there were over a thousand people asking him questions at the same time. No problem for a high-end AI. But it was one person's question, yours, that caused Jesus to go into what they call a paradox crash, the cybernetic equivalent of a complete nervous breakdown."
Ransom shrugged again. "What can I say. Oops?"
"They tested and prepared the Virtual Jesus for months. They had the world's greatest theologians question and temper the neural network. They can't figure out for the life of them how a twenty-five year old college dropout was able to destroy years of work in fifteen minutes. They are convinced that you are some sort of memetic hacker, and that we should sue you. But don't worry. We have no evidence against you. Most of Seventh Day leadership readily admits that it was our bad. You are as innocent as the little boy who told the emperor that he was naked.
"The good thing that came of this is that it brought you to my attention. We need someone with integrity to conduct this mission. And you've shown that you can stand up for what you believe, even when what you believe is unpopular. I just wish you didn't play for the humanists."
"I don't play for anyone. I just believe what I believe." said Ransom.
"Of course, Mr Archer. It's just that we are at a crucial time in history. Even when considering the revitalizing fires of the Transadventist Revival of the early twenty-first century, Christianity is slowly losing its significance. As science promises to change humanity, the struggle between Faith and Humanism will become more pronounced than ever before.
"More and more young people, such as yourself, are turning their backs on Faith in favor of Humanism. Especially a new denomination of Humanism, Superhumanism. This new form of unbelief offers everything that the Christian Church offers, eternal life and never-ending abundance in a transformed Heaven and Earth. Hey, if I didn't know better, I'd be all for this Superhumanism."
"What do you know, doctor?" asked Ransom.
"The people who ascribe to this non-belief think that a complete unified theory is right around the corner. What they don't realize is that mankind still has much to learn from nature and science. take for example how much we still don't know about how the human central nervous system works. As powerful as computers have become, nothing comes close to the human brain. With circuits the size of molecules, the human central nervous system is the most complex, most elegant, most miraculous thing in the known universe. We can witness the emergent properties that came with evolution just by looking at the ascending layers of complexity in our brains. The reptilian level, the mammalian level, and the primate level. Yet our technology cannot even comprehend the most primitive part of the central nervous system, the spinal cord."
Ransom shifted in his chair, suddenly suspicious.
"When I was your age, Mr Archer, a person with a spinal cord injury was paralyzed for life. Now, we can repair some spinal cord injuries, but not others. Seventh Day manages the most advanced spinal cord injury research facility in the world down in Miami. An innovation in the field of cytology such as Beatrice would be a Godsend to those scientists in SoFlo. Mr Archer, wouldn't you feel wonderful, knowing you helped contribute to a complete and fully effective cure to paralysis?"
Ransom was now definitely suspicious. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Most of what we know about the brain and spinal cord comes from studying and treating injuries. Beatrice will do nothing but advance this study. So think about the big picture for a moment. In order for mankind to advance, to evolve, to progress to the next level; it is necessary for us to form a complete theory on the workings of the human central nervous system. Don't you agree?"
"That makes sense."
For the first time during their conversation, the older man lost some of the confidence he had addressing the younger man. The doctor seemed almost embarrassed by what he was about to say. "What people don't realize is that a cure for paralysis would be a boon to mankind. One thing I, and the rest of Seventh Day feels passionately about is equality for those who are disabled. When striving for these rights, it's important to know that it's not a contest of us versus them. The disabled are part of our society. They are us. Their condition is the human condition. And they are just as important to us as any other member of the human family. Sometimes, they are even more important. Wouldn't you agree?"
"What the fuck are you getting at, doctor?"
"I'm talking about the extraordinary young woman, the Superhumanist, Miss Cohen-Moore."
Ransom launched himself out of his chair and stomped to window overlooking downtown.
"You love her, don't you?" asked Doctor Dacron.
Ransom couldn't stand to look at him.
"I was once a young man too."
Still without looking, Ransom spoke, "All these things you've been telling me. This isn't a general sell speech. This is specifically tailored for me. You know me better than my own parents."
"The security people performed an extensive internet search for any data about you on public servers."
"It was you." said Ransom. "You hacked into my home server."
"One of the computer techs in the security department did that."
"That's illegal."
"Mr Archer, I was planning on telling you what we did. And I hoped you would understand that it was necessary. But if you don't, then my computer experts assure me that there's no way you can prove we did it, unless you have a hidden hologram recorder catching my confession right now."
"Okay, then why was it necessary?"
"Even though I believed in my heart and spirit that you were right for this job, that wasn't near enough for Corporate Security. My most trusted security people had to get you top clearance. And they couldn't do that without a full investigation, because you were flagged in our system."
"Why was I flagged?"
"In the year 2019, The state of Central Florida was formed under the Mega-state Balkanization Act which split the states of Florida, Texas, and California into smaller states so that they would no longer threaten American democracy with their inordinate size and power. When it formed, the state of CenFlo abolished all public schools and sent it's children to private schools through a voucher system. Your parents, however, declined your state vouchers until 2021."
"Yeah." said Ransom. "My parents, um, my mother home-schooled me for ninth and tenth grades. What the hell does this have to do with anything?"
"In 2021, you enrolled in Baseball City High School for the eleventh grade. Baseball High is owned by Seventh Day. When you were enrolled, our security servers flagged you because you flunked your psychological tests."
"What?"
"The servers indicated that your test answers were consistent with someone with RED." said the doctor.
"RED?"
"Religious Extremism Disorder."
Ransom finally returned to his seat. He looked straight at the doctor. "You think I'm a theopath?"
"The DSM-VI defines a theopathic personality as one that displays severe anti-social tendencies due to extreme religious belief. You displayed no behavior that indicated you were a theopath. Only the potential. That's why the computer flagged you."
"Doctor, you're telling me that your corporate servers have been following me with a personality test I took in high school?"
"Not just that." The doctor spoke to the window. "Smart glass, retrieve picture file, R Archer one." He faced Ransom. "This snap shot was taken on twelve June 2021 from public cameras on Colonial Drive in downtown Orlando. Records of a public disturbance. No one was hurt. But downtown was brought to a standstill for a couple hours."
A picture appeared on the window. It was a group of young people, very young people, teenagers on the side of the road. They were protesting. Not military action, or corporate globalization. They were protesting what they believed to be evil itself. And they were carrying large posters. Mutilated bodies. Blood and gore. Aborted fetuses. Ransom got up and walked to the giant photograph. The tall young lanky teenage boy looked like he was trying his best to look morally outraged. But really, he looked happy. He looked like a young man of few cares. A young man who was confident in the fact that he was fighting unambiguous evil in a world that could be understood in black and white.
Ransom looked at the old man. "I was sixteen, doctor. You never did anything stupid when you were sixteen?"
"We had to be sure, Ransom. When word gets out that Seventh Day will using embryonic stem cell technology, the terrorists who are bombing abortion clinics and cell banks may come after us. We wanted to be confident that you had absolutely no ties to radical ultra-right wing fundamentalist groups."
The picture faded away allowing the bright cloudless Florida sky to shine through. Looking over the city, Ransom suddenly felt small. "So the security people trust me?"
"Yes. And now that you have top security clearance, I have one more thing to show you. I saved the best for last." Dr Dacron handed a black leather folder to Ransom. The leather had two nano-compiled precious stones set into the front, each one looked like a symbol. They were the corporate symbols for Seventh Day and The Nippon Fullerene Corporation. And underneath, one word, "Nephilim."
"This is of course, top secret." said the doctor.
Ransom flipped through the book. It appeared to be schemata of something, he wasn't sure. He saw a few pictures created with quantum gravity photography. Pictures of axons, glia, nerve cells. "What is it?"
"I took a trip to Japan a few months ago. It's amazing what those guys with Nippon Fullerene are doing over there. They have these androids that are so lifelike, you can't tell they're machines unless they're standing right in front of you. Um... anyway. Right now they are working on something... it could be the most important technology of the century, or perhaps ever."
"Human-level AI." said Ransom.
"There are many people also working towards the creation of AI. Most people, The Superhuman League for example, are of the opinion that the, top down, approach to AI research is the way to go. They observe human intelligence and then try to duplicate it through a mechanical substrate. The Japanese are about to devote a lot of time and money to what could be the greatest scientific endeavor of our time. They will attempt to create AI, a computer just as powerful, and eventually more so, than the human brain. They will do it using the, bottom up, approach. They will create circuits that will mimic the cells of the human central nervous system. They will be networked together in the same way they are in the human brain. They will essentially be reverse engineering the human brain.
"To do this, they need biologists, cytologists, neurologists, bio-physicists, people who know the human body, people who work for us. This will be the biggest cooperative project we've ever undertaken. This will be bigger than Beatrice. But we need Beatrice to do this. This has never been said in front of the conservative executive board of Seventh Day. But I'll say it now. This is our future."
Ransom's head was swimming with the implications of what the doctor was telling him. "How can you, as a Christian, sponsor this project for human-level AI? To recreate creation. Isn't this playing God?"
"We cannot stop the progress of science or the evolution of mankind. When AI comes, if it comes, no doubt there will be great moral dilemmas. What if these machine children possess souls as infinitely valuable as ours? We must put away our preconceived notions of God. God is everywhere and in everything. We must have faith that when we look towards the future, God will meet us there, just as he has met us in the past."
"Are you hoping to trigger The Singularity?" asked Ransom.
"As a Transadventist Christian, I must give thought to the Second Coming. I'm sure you've noticed the similarities between the speculations of a post-singularity world, and the hopes of the Millennial Kingdom described in the Bible. Who is to say that this is not the method by which God will establish his Kingdom?"
"But what about Armageddon?"
"I spent much time studying apocalyptic literature when I was younger. And not just the Adventist view or the Pre-millennial dispensationalist view. One thing I believe is that no man can know the day or even the nature of The Second Coming save for the very vague predictions put forth in the Bible. I believe God made his prophecies vague on purpose. So that his words will be sealed until the appointed day and time. In general, Ransom, Life never turns out the way you think it will. This is God's plan. And anyone who thinks that they can predict how God will allow history to play out is either deluded or a sinner.
"Now, Claude Virunga, as well as most Biblical scholars believe that before the Millennial Kingdom, there will be a time of great trouble never seen before. Pestilence, famine, and war."
"The Tribulation." said Ransom.
"We Transadventists believe that a Christian's job is to bring about the Kingdom, not the Tribulation. Indeed, many Christians believe that there will be no Tribulation, or that they will be spared from it when it does come. Because of all the violence he saw in his life, the Reverend Virunga couldn't accept that The Tribulation was anything but unavoidable. And he may be one hundred percent correct. But I pray with all my might that he's wrong."
Ransom stood up and handed the leather folder to Dr Dacron.
"I am finished, Ransom. Now that I've told you everything. Now that you know what's at stake. Tell me, do you want the job."

What other choice did Ransom have?

21. The Abomination of Desolation

2005-07-25T04:29:00.000-07:00

Ransom was exploring Kilgore Station, virtually. Dr Dacron had provided him with a full three dimensional construct of the space city. He was checking out the corridors and modules when he received a page telling him that someone was waiting for him in his mountain house. He simultaneously hoped and feared for the same person. He switched environments from Kilgore Station to his mountain shack. It was her.
"Hello Ransom." She wasn't wearing her super hero outfit anymore. He guessed she must think that she's more mature than she was a few months ago, somehow. She wore baggy cargo pants that hid her legs that always looked kinda skinny to Ransom, but didn't look bad. She wore a tight t-shirt that showed off her toned upper body. Ransom's pulse quickened. He resisted the urge to block her visually and only listen to her voice. "I hope you weren't too busy. I just wanted to say hi. Haven't seen you in a while."
"Nothing I can't put off till later. It's just something I have to study for work."
"Oh yeah? What is it?"
"Can't tell you. It's a secret."
"Oh... Well, you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to." she said.
"I do want to tell you. But I can't, because it's a secret. I told you that. So don't fucking put words in my mouth"
"I wasn't putting words into your mouth. I mean, I wasn't trying to. I just thought..."
"What? That you know everything about me?" said Ransom. "That nothing I do is important enough to keep secret?"
"I'm confused. Why are you biting my head off? I just came by to say hi. I'm sorry if I offended you."
Why was she being so coy? She even managed to look confused when she said that she was confused. This infuriated Ransom. But he hid his rage inside. He couldn't allow himself to appear petty. "I'm sorry. Lots of stress lately. So tell me how's school going, Jesse?"
"Good, really good. How's work going?"
"Ah... it's a secret."
"Oh."
"I signed a confidentiality agreement. If I tell you, they could sue me into the ground."
"You can't tell me, ever?"
"No, I can tell you when the mission is over."
She made her lips pout. "I wish you could tell me now."
Ransom thought about resisting her pretty face. Then immediately caved. "Do you have access to an encrypted line and a secure server?"
"Of course. I have a tech geek friend who can hook me up."
"Can you meet me in thirty minutes, at your place?"

Ransom pulled off his ear phones and stereo goggles, yanked the headset jack out of his home server and walked down to the Shop 'n Save convenience store down the street from his house. They had an old public access terminal in the back of the store. He plugged his headset into the appropriate jack. He didn't want to risk charging the access fee to his credit account, so his slipped a ten dollar coin into the slot and grabbed the hand controller which was bolted to the counter to prevent stealing.

He found Jesse in her office in the Superhuman League space station.
He told her about his mission. He told her about Beatrice, what it was, what it could do for the entire medical industry. He did not go into as much detail and speculation about what Beatrice could do about the human central nervous system. And he didn't even mention Project Nephilim, except to state that Seventh Day was entering a partnership with Nippon Fullerene in order to develop AI technology. Ransom felt he had made a good presentation.
She listened to him with rapt attention. Just as he had hoped and expected, she hung on every word. Months before, she would have listed to him with the same sincere interest even if he had just ben describing his day. But things were different now. He needed something really impressive if he was going to take up her time.
When he finished, she gave a reply that aroused his anger again. "You can't do this."
"What? You're joking, right?"
"You don't need to do this. You can go and tell them that you're not going to do it. They can't fire you for that."
"You want me to disappoint a top level executive officer of a Big Ten corporation? I'm never going to get another offer like this."
"It's not worth your life."
"I told you Jesse. There is very little chance that anything could happen. It's an acceptable risk. They are sending me daily updates of their corporate security intel. The company is doing everything possible for a safe mission. And did I mention that they're going to let me become a bioreactor tech when I return?"
"You trust them? Ransom, you have everything to lose, and they have everything to gain. The only thing they are risking is your next of kin's life insurance settlement." she said. "Or do you think they won't send a young man off to die? Why not? Because they're Christians?"
"Yes, they're Christians. So what? They're trying to make the world a better place. They're not just sitting on their ass waiting for some savior to come fix everything."
She put a virtual hand on his virtual forearm. She sounded so sincere, that it sickened Ransom. "There are other ways of helping the world that don't involve putting yourself in danger."
"Right. What the hell do you expect me to do? Do you want me to be nothing for the rest of my life?"
"You are not nothing. Your self worth is not measured by your job or how much money you make."
"Well that's real fucking easy for you to say." he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that it's people who have money who say that money isn't important, and things like that."
"It's true. Don't be cynical."
Ransom opened an access window and conducted a search of the Net.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm searching an inventory database. I want to show you something. Show you that I'm not in as much danger as you think... Here it is." He held out his arm and the black metal device appeared in his hand. When Jesse saw it, she instinctively jumped. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed into a circle. "Standard issue 9mm. Semiautomatic with a ten round magazine."
"Oh God. Put that thing away."
"They gave it to me for free. I'm taking a crash course in weapons training. And I have to get licensed, of course. But see, if anything happens I can fight back."
"Put it away. I hate guns. You know I hate guns."
"Put what away. This is just a computer generated prop. Hello? This is telepresence, remember? It's not real, see?" He pointed the gun at his head. The room lit up as he put three virtual slugs into his head.
"STOP IT! You asshole!" Her voice was a shriek that seemed even louder than the sound effects generated by the gunshot. Ransom had never seen her this angry before. he let go of the gun and it disappeared. He was surprised that she still chose not to use an emotion filter when talking to him.
"Ransom, why do you hate me? I know that you wanted me to stay with you. You think that I'm rejecting you. But it has nothing to do with you. If things were different. If I wasn't the way I am, then what was between us could have worked."
The voice. That small voice was telling Ransom to shut the Hell up, that he was making a mistake. That things could maybe be worked out and they could have another chance.
No, thought Ransom. There won't be another chance. I don't want another chance.
"Don't patronize me, Jesse. The only reason we got together is because of the way you are."
"What?"
"I don't kid myself. Tell myself what a great guy I am. I know that I never would have won you if you weren't at such disadvantage to resist me. Why would a girl like you be interested in a white trash loser like me? Only unless you were desperate. Unless you thought couldn't do any better. And when things started going your way, when your life got good again, you realized that you didn't need anyone, especially not me."
Jesse made a feeble attempt to interrupt, but Ransom waved her off. "The worst part was not that you left. The worst part was that you added insult to injury when you couldn't even admit that you loved me, even if it was in a temporary moment of weakness. I was reduced to just a pity date. Well, fuck you. I don't need your fucking pity."
Seconds as long as hours passed. It was silent. Jesse stared into space and said nothing. She looked as if she couldn't speak.
"Goodbye, Jesse."

God, I wish I had never met her.
It was silent. Just as silent as that last day in the Superhuman League. Kilgore Station was peaceful. It gave no indication of being in the middle of a crisis.
Ransom was angry. And none of the tripe about, "Anger is the sin of murder." He had a right to be angry. She treated him like he was nothing.
But she didn't seem to think of him as nothing. She seemed pretty concerned.
She used me when she was bored, and threw me away when she was finished.
You were there when she needed you. But she didn't want you the way you wanted her. She should have been honest with you. But people make mistakes. Why continue to be angry?
Because I changed my life for her. Everything became different after I met her. I wouldn't be here with Beatrice if it wasn't for her. I wish I had never met her.
But you have met her. And once you meet someone, there is no way to un-meet them. Once she violated the way you thought that things ought to be, you sought to invalidate her existence. She inadvertently made you feel like nothing. You purposely tried to make her feel like nothing. She showed concern. You showed rage. You wish her broken and hurting. You seek to avenge your insult and pay her in kind, how much? Twice? Ten times? Seventy times seven?
Ransom shook his head. He thought, what does this have to do with the mission? This is not about me or her. Beatrice is bigger than both of us.
He pleaded with himself, get up. Get up and move to the airlock. Escape the terrorists.
The mission is the most important thing. Beatrice is worth more than his life, worth more than his doubts, worth more than his superstition inspired reservations. The future is everything, and Beatrice is the future.

22. Kilgore Station

2005-07-25T04:28:00.000-07:00

Seventh Day paid for a complete check up on Ransom's car. They performed some general maintenance, like a lube job, fuel cell flush, and a verification of the vehicle server's hard memory. Nothing should go wrong on the trip to Spaceport Canaveral.
He drove to Seventh Day headquarters and went directly to Dr Dacron's office to pick up the precious cargo. The doctor handed him a black leather bag and the gun he would be using. The doctor shook his hand. "You'll be alright. I'll be praying for you."

Ransom took the half-hour trip to the Cape. It was completely uneventful. It was Sunday, so there was no traffic. When he passed the Titusville exit on the highway, he got a little nervous and called corporate security. "Courier to base, come in."
"Yes, Officer Archer?"
"Is everything okay on your side?"
"Roger. Is everything okay with you?"
"Yeah, I was just checking. Has there been anything interesting coming off the police channels?"
"I'm sorry, Mr Archer. This transmission is heavily encrypted. However we still ask that you only call us when absolutely necessary. Just an extra precaution."
"Sorry, I'm just nervous."
"That's understandable. Over and out."

When he reached the spaceport, the first thing that the Port Canaveral Space Authority Security people did was confiscate his weapon. Ransom didn't need it anymore. The most dangerous part of his mission was already over. Once he stepped into the spaceport, his risk level went from orange to green. Port Canaveral Security was the best in the world. There had never been a major incident on a transorbital passenger flight, ever. Sure, there have been hijackings and robberies of cargo vessels. And every now and then, a satellite will be stolen right out of the sky. But the safety of tourists and workers going into orbit was virtually guaranteed.
And it's no wonder it's safe. Ransom had never seen security measures so ridiculously excessive. After putting his carry-on bag containing Beatrice, and every bit of clothing he had on on a conveyor belt, he was made to walk naked through a PET scanner. Then he waited anxiously in a cold exam. A short old male wearing blue scrubs and a badge that said "Biological Security- Port Canaveral Space Authority" entered the room. After taking a blood sample, the man swabbed every one his bodily orifices with a bio-scan wand. That's right, every orifice. He didn't even kiss him first. The bio-security guard made nervous conversation about plans to build an automaton that would do his job. He did mention that Ransom handled the violating search for bio-weapons better than most people.
After waiting for two hours on the runway, the trans-orbital jet took off. Once reaching the right altitude, the jet turned off it's hydrogen engines and switched to anti-matter fuel. After the Captain gave a warning, Ransom felt himself pushed back into his seat by the force of acceleration. When he was able to pull his head away from the headrest again, he saw that the sky outside the window had turned from blue to black.

Beatrice is more important than anything?
Yes.
More important than your life?
Yes.
More important than God?
More important than an archaic fictional character? Yes, I think so.
You were once faithful. Would you have said the same thing a year ago?
No. What a difference a year makes, right?
What would you do if you were still faithful?
What difference does it make?
If you had to choose between God and Beatrice, who would you choose?
God is supposedly the ultimate good. Why would he ask me to choose between himself and something that could help so many people?
As the ultimate good, God is by nature jealous of anything placed at higher importance than himself.

Funny, Ransom had always thought that the space city on Kilgore Station would be bigger. The vessel gates led directly to the welcome module, which was about the size of a lobby of a large hotel. The high vaulted ceilings made the room seem bigger than it really was. The ceiling was made with nano-compiled diamond-glass, which allowed him to see the starry sky without looking through miles of atmosphere.
He was unsure where to go. He hadn't virtually explored the whole of Kilgore Station, just the Seventh Day module. Ransom spotted a guy about his age, wearing the navy and silver uniform of Kilgore Station Security.
"I would love to work security at this place. How does one go about getting this job?"
The guard eyed him with skepticism. "Well, I had to apply, then I went on a waiting list for two years."
"Two years is a long wait, but it must be really cool."
"It doesn't pay enough, in my opinion."
"It's gotta pay more than I make. Hey, I'm just a medical courier. I'm a security officer too."
"Oh, I thought you were a tourist. Yeah, working here is pretty cool. The best part is that we only work three of every four weeks. I go groundside every fourth week. That works out to three months of paid leave every year."
"Three months? Sweet."
"Of course, it's a bitch having to get use to Earth gravity again every time I return." said the guard.
"Can you tell me the best way to get to The Seventh Day corporate module?"
"Sure." The officer touched a screen on the nearest wall. "Map. Now, we are right here on the edge of the right wing. There are two wings. The right wing is for tourists. All the labs and research modules are on the left wing. Seventh Day actually has two modules. One here, near the left edge. And one here, near the rotational axis. You know, the closer you get to the rotational axis, the less artificial gravity there will be. If you weighed two hundred pounds groundside, you prolly weigh about one-sixty now. Near the axis, you'll only weigh a few pounds"
"I need to go to the one near the axis."
The officer traced a path with his finger. Ransom got ready to go when he noticed a familiar face.
"Is that who I think it is?" asked Ransom.
"Yes, the famous actress and play-write from Toronto Troupe." said the guard.
"I used to work security at the General Telepresence Resort theme parks in Baseball City. I would see a lot of celebrities there sometimes. But I bet you prolly see more up here."
"Oh yeah, see that dark-skinned guy in the really nice suit over there surrounded by guards, President of Pakistan. And see that tall woman and two men standing together in the corner. Those are Governor Thompson's children. They brought their families here for the week."
"Wow."
"I've seen so many famous people, it's nothing to me. However, one thing I will never get tired of seeing, is this." The officer pointed at the ceiling.
Ransom looked through the clear panels, and saw it. Everything he had ever seen and known, moving above him. Blocking out the black void of space with blue green life. All he could do was stare.

If God came to you and asked you to throw away Beatrice, to sacrifice it as if it didn't matter, would you do it?
Does God actually agree with the anti-abortion terrorists? Is he on their side?
God is on everyone's side.
Why would God ask me to throw away something so important. Something that can help people?
The Lord works in mysterious ways. You are just a man. You can't see the contours of God's future plan. Do you have absolutely no faith?
How can I be sure of anything? What does it matter?
What if something terrible happens as a result of your disobedience? Some dark evil thing that reeks of despair?
Then I'll just seek forgiveness afterward. Isn't that the way God works?
God wants obedience above sacrifice. He wants you to do what is right, right now. Once an evil is done, it can never be un-done. Yes, God will forgive, but the damage will still exist. And besides, you can never find God's grace unless you first make the decision to obey.
Why can't I act?! Why am I doing this? Why can't I ignore my fears and doubts? Is this God? Why are you doing this to me God? Why are you ruining my life? Why are you taking away the one good thing I have going?
So this is about you?
I've tried to be a good person. All my life, i've tried to do the right thing. I've tried to put others before myself. Has it done me any good? Have I made a difference in the life of anyone? Am I completely irrelevant in this spec of life in a cold impersonal universe?
How can you put anyone before yourself if you can't put God before yourself?
I am not a bad person.
If you had to choose between yourself and God, who would you choose?

The modules of the space city were connected with tube-like bridges. Ransom was bounding down the last bridge before he got to his destination. There was very little artificial gravity. His strides were about five yards long. He was going to enjoy spending the night here. He literally felt like a kid again.
He reached a door to the module with a placard bearing the Seventh Day symbol. He was immediately noticed.
"Yes?" said a disembodied voice.
"Courier."
"Name?"
"Ransom Archer."
"One moment." The hermetically sealed door opened. He stepped forward. As the door closed behind him, a voice told him to prepare for depressurization. For structural reasons, the bridges of the space city are kept at higher pressure than the modules.
Ransom waited patiently as his ears popped . As he was waiting, he saw a reminder of CenFlo crawling up the wall. It was a palmetto bug, a big cockroach. Ransom laughed. He remembers reading in the literature that there aren't supposed to be any insects anywhere in Kilgore Station. He guessed that nature must have found a way.
Ransom looked at the bug and noticed that it looked quite phony, like it was made of plastic. He saw that it was some sort of tiny automaton. The robot bug crawled towards a little black dot in the wall. The dot was the size of a period. It was prolly a sensor or an embedded camera of some sort. When the bug reached the sensor, a bright white electric arc closed the gap between the sensor and the bug's head. There was a crackling noise and a burnt smell.
Ransom was confused at first until he realized that he had seen this before. It was one of those technology links Data had posted at The Superhuman League. A Brazilian defense contractor made these tiny automatons that would seek out the "eyes" of a security server, the cameras and sensors that are too small and numerous for a human to find. Then it would disable the sensors, making the security server blind. They had many military applications, like espionage. Criminals could use them too.
Something was wrong, thought Ransom. Something was very wrong. He had to contact Kilgore Security...

BOOM!!!!!!!

23. The Outer Controversy

2005-07-25T04:25:00.000-07:00

This is it, Ransom thought.
"Hand over the bag!"
He was staring at four armed men with each their weapons aimed at him. They were wearing realistic latex masks which made them look like completely different people from a distance, but were really fake looking up close. Whoever they were, these men had apparently exploded the bridge that connects the module to the rest of Kilgore Station. His ears where still ringing. Now no one could get to the Seventh day module without a ship or a spacesuit. They were cut off.
This is the end, thought Ransom. He knew the risks when he took the job. Now the risks have caught up with him at a different time and place than expected.
But the one of the reasons he was so willing to take a risk was because he thought he had nothing to lose. And because he had nothing to lose, he did something stupid.
As soon as he stepped into the module with his hands upraised, he fell to the ground and pushed as hard as he could with his legs. Ransom bowled over two of the armed men as he went sliding across the entire length of the floor.
On the opposite edge of the room, Ransom slammed hard against the wall. There were gunshots and yelling. Ransom felt what seemed like a baseball bat hitting his left leg. He'd been shot. But he ignored the pain and took off running.
With barely a thought, he ran to the nearest hallway. He knew exactly where he was going. Ransom had studied the telepresence construct of the module very well. Instead of running down the hallway, he jumped, fifteen yards in a single bound. He had to grab onto the door-frame in order to stop his momentum.
He slammed the door shut and locked it right before the masked men reached the other side. A bullet tore a hole through the door. He heard someone yell, "No!" There was some hurried discussion. Then he heard footsteps moving away from the door.

Ransom shook violently. he knew he had little time. He quickly glanced around the room. He was inside the bioreactor hall. Huge tanks that were used to culture and multiply living cells were lined up against the wall on either side of him. But the hall had been demolished. The tanks were cracked and ripped open. Equipment had been smashed. The floor was covered in the slippery nutrient solution that was used to bathe the cells in the bioreactors. Up on the far wall was a graffitoed message left by the vandals.

JESUS WEEPS FOR THE UNBORN

Ransom spoke into his wrist-server. "Server, contact Security."
"Mr Archer, where are you? Are you okay?" said a disembodied voice.
"I'm in the Seventh Day module, the bioreactor room. I think I've been shot. But I feel okay. I'm hiding from men with guns."
"The assailants have taken control of that entire module." said the voice. "They've somehow taken out all the sensors and cameras on the interior of the module. We're using heat sensors from the exterior to track the movement of bodies around the module. But other than that, we are totally blind."
Ransom reached into his pocket, pulled out his Seventh Day security badge, and pinned it to his shirt. "I have a camera and heat sensor embedded in my badge. I also have a camera in my wristwatch. Are you getting this?"
"Yes, excellent! I see they've done a lot of damage to that room."
"Are you sending people over here?"
"Uh... no. We're talking with the terrorists now. They're holding seventeen people hostage. They claim that they are still alive, but they will start killing them if we move on the module. Mr Archer, I suggest that you continue to hide or escape if you can."
Ransom heard footsteps and talking outside the door. "I gotta move." He said. He saw a ceiling grate at the furthest end of the hall. He ran and jumped, twenty-five feet into the air. He grabbed onto the grate and opened it, stuffed himself into the air duct, and closed it behind him. As he moved he heard from behind a loud crack which must've obviously been the door being rammed open.

Ransom moved through the ducts. He navigated his way to the back end of the module. Intensive study of the module in telepresence allowed him to know where he was going in the dark metal tube. He exited the duct system and found himself in the loading dock.
He saw how the terrorists were able to get to Kilgore Station. Through a window he saw a small sized trans-orbital craft, the kind used to service satellites.
Just steps away from freedom, Ransom heard the men approaching. He quickly decided to hide. He found an alcove covered by a recycling bin positioned underneath an emergency maintenance exit.
Three of the four men had returned to their vessel for some reason. From his hiding place he could see the men talking. He could hear their voices. He could make out identifying features like height and weight. He pointed his wristwatch at them, so that the Kilgore Security people could see them too. He sat perfectly still and waited.

It felt like hours, but according to his wristwatch barely fifty-five minutes had passed. His life had flashed before his eyes. The last year played out like a movie. For Ransom, it was plenty of time to think about his situation. He thought about it so much, he couldn't stop thinking about it, even though he desperately wanted to.
He felt his left leg where he had been shot. No hole, no blood, just pain and tenderness. They must have hit him with a rubber bullet or a bean bag or something. He remembered the graffiti message. The security guy had called them terrorists. They weren't thieves. They were religious fundamentalist terrorists . They weren't here to steal. They were here to cause terror.
But they did want Beatrice. And they were hesitant to kill to get it. Hesitant so far, that is.
Dr Dacron was right about his mission being a dangerous one. But he was wrong about where that danger was coming from. Thieves are troublesome. But only terrorist extremists are willing to go to the ends of the Earth and beyond to achieve their goals. Only a mixture of piety and insanity would make a person want to do God's job for Him, to go to any extreme to prove that their graven image is the one true God.

Ransom was afraid. There was something about these terrorists. Something important that stuck in his mind and wouldn't let go. Something dark that hinted of despair.
When the terrorists were in the room before Ransom did the first thing he was taught to do when trained as a security officer. He watched them, observant of anything that could be used for identification. He listened to their voices. Recorded them on his wrist-server. Two of the men were American, possibly from Southern states. One of the men sounded Arabic or Middle Eastern. Ransom was impressed. It appeared that their underground militia was international. When the fourth terrorist arrived, he spoke with a European accent, British. He sounded exactly like Jaime's father, the little crippled boy he knew.
He tried to look for any possible physical feature that could be used for identification. These guys knew what they were doing. They wore masks and latex gloves. But Ransom saw that one of them made a mistake that could possibly help investigators later on. He had a finger amputation on his left hand. If he had been smart, he would have used a fake finger under his glove to hide such a distinguishing injury. It was the same finger that Jamie's father was missing...
Oh, Hell.
It's him. It's Matthew Bradford, Jaime's father. He has become a terrorist.

The realization hit Ransom like a brick to the back of the head. He was dizzy. But he recovered quickly. This doesn't change the mission, he thought. He still needs to get out and get Beatrice to safety. The terrorists would leave empty handed. They would return to Earth to be eventually captured and sent to jail.
But what if they aren't captured? What if nobody can find them?
How many men in the world are English, missing that exact same finger, and are outspoken against abortion. Matthew will be found and he will lead to the rest of the terrorists.
How do you know? There are people all over the world willing to hide these guys. And modern stem cell therapy can replace a finger. Surgery can make you look like a completely different person. If whoever is backing these terrorists is wealthy enough to fund a trip to space, he can certainly afford a new finger. A terrorist could get away scot free. You have the ability to stop him.
It's not such a big deal. People get off on shit all the time. They haven't killed anyone.
They stole, they vandalized, they threatened people with guns, they shot you with a weapon that did have a small chance of killing you if it hit you just right. And what about the explosion? How much of a push will it take to turn these men into murderers?
Beatrice can help his son.
It might. Or it might not. But if you let this man leave Kilgore, then Jaime will be returned to the care of a violent, terrible father. He will be taught a gospel of hate. Jesus to him will be an idol of rage and political power. He will lose his dignity. His faith will be supplanted with cynicism. He will learn no discipline, save for areas where it will aid his father's false religion. Decide now, which is worse, A crippled body, or a deformed soul?
Why is God doing this to me? No one should have to choose between something that could save the world, and a single child.
A single child of infinite worth. You've always wanted to help people. You've always felt that that would give you purpose. Now you can help one person. Wouldn't that make it all worth it? What if your entire life depends on such a time as this? Make your choice. Don't deny your purpose.

Instantly, an idea coalesced in Ransoms mind, a plan to stop the terror. Would it work?
Ransom looked up at the escape hatch above his head. He knew that it wasn't too late, he still had time to escape.
But no. He had already made his choice

24. For Such a Time as This

2005-07-25T04:22:00.000-07:00

The terrorists had left the loading dock. When they returned once again, Ransom was waiting for them. Both his hands were up. One hand was empty. The other was holding Beatrice in it's sealed cryogenic cylinder removed from the leather bag and foam insulation.
The men were startled. When they saw Ransom, all four rushed him.
"Stay back!" Ransom held Beatrice over his head. "Stay back or I smash it!" Ransom was so nervous, his throat tightly clenched. He forced his words out in a low guttural growl.
All four of them were there, including the one Ransom recognized. One of them, not Jamie's father, an apparent leader stepped forward. Aiming his gun at Ransom, he spoke, "Listen to me very carefully. What you hold in your hand is a human life. Just as important as you or me. Now we don't want to hurt you. We have yet to hurt anyone in this station. But if you break that canister, we will have to... you will be forcing us to fill God's Law of an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, life for a life according to Deuteronomy 19:21."
Ransom didn't move.
"Please, give it to us. She is an unborn child waiting for a chance at life. We know that she even has a name, Beatrice. We have gone to the ends of the Earth and beyond to show the world that God's word will not be mocked. Do what is right and give me the canister."
Ransom's hands were shaking. His throat was completely closed. He had to summon all his strength to push the words out from the bottom of his lungs. They came out of his mouth, barely above a whisper. "Take off your masks."
Their leader held out his hand and palm facing out to the other terrorists, "Give us the child and no harm will come to you."
Ransom pointed at Matthew Bradford, "Take off your masks. You first."
Even though he was wearing a mask, Ransom knew that he was turning pale. He was pointing a gun at an unarmed man, and he was the one who was afraid. "Why... why me?"
"God may hate your son. He put him in that wheelchair. But even worse, he made you his father."
"I know you."
There was silence. The other three men gave each other anxious looks. After a moment, Matthew made his decision and slowly deliberately took off his mask.
"Take em off, all of you."
Their leader spoke, "We made plans for this contingency. Do what he asks."
They took off their masks. The other three, Ransom didn't recognize. But they were burnt. They would never sleep easy again, unless it was in a jail cell. Ransom tossed Beatrice to Matthew with careless disdain. He just barely kept himself from fumbling it to the ground. Their leader glared at Ransom with self-righteous anger. Ransom moved away from the path between the terrorist and the airlock leading to their vessel.
As they shuffled past him, Ransom felt one thousand times bolder. He felt rage towards them for taking Beatrice. He felt rage for everything that had gone wrong in his life. He decided that he wasn't going to let them off that easy.
"What are you going to do with it?" he asked in a loud belligerent voice.
"Isn't it obvious?" their leader turned to back towards him. "We're going to let her live. Don't think this is last time you will see Beatrice. We already have a woman volunteering to be a surrogate. Nine months from today, expect to see a newborn baby pointing a finger of accusation at her would be killers. She will just show up. Perhaps on the steps of the White House, or maybe Seventh Day headquarters. Most likely in a place you won't expect."
"That's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard."
"Let's go." The leader turned back towards the airlock.
"It's not going to live." said Ransom.
"Don't listen to him." said the leader.
"I'm telling the truth. The embryo has been genetically modified. It wasn't meant to be brought to term. It lacks the alleles for proper development. It won't live past the first trimester."
"He's lying."
"Even with the tiny chance that it lives, Beatrice is guaranteed to be born with horrible deformities." said Ransom. "But the scientists assured me that it cannot be brought to term."
"Don't listen!"
"You here me Matthew? You did this for nothing."
Matthew didn't look back.
"You ruined your life for nothing."
Matthew cocked his head. "You think I wouldn't gladly sacrifice my life for The Lord?"
"Now Jamie will grow up without a father."
Matthew turned to face him. His eyes burned with feral paternal instinct. "Don't you talk about my son! You don't know! You don't know what it's like!"
"What don't I know?" asked Ransom.
"I love my son! I love him more than anything!"
And in that moment, something changed for Ransom. In all the hatred and impotent rage that Matthew directed at him, Ransom saw himself. He saw all the fear and doubt in his heart staring back at him, loathing him. Ransom understood. And he knew that he couldn't repay hatred with like. He just couldn't.
"You think you're the only one who feels pain?" asked Ransom. "You think you're the only one whose world ended one day? You think you're the only one who feels abandoned by God? Who feels like God was punishing him unfairly? Or even worse, He struck someone you love, and there's nothing you can do to help? Nothing you can do be watch them suffer? I know how that feels."
"You're just like the rest." said Matthew "All murderers."
"No! I'm not like the rest. I never looked down on you for having a disabled son. I hated the way you treated him. But I never hated you. I know that some people hate you for the choice you made. I know that some people look down on you and offer you no sympathy. Because you chose to take a chance on life. Even I was guilty of that sometimes. I should have been more understanding. It's a cruel world, and some people think you're just a fool for the choice you made. But I don't think you're a fool. I know that Jaime is the most valuable thing in the world for you. And anyone who criticizes the choice you made is wrong.
"But now, you're wrong. That's just a clump of cells you're stealing. What you're doing now is wrong."
He was listening. The leader came and grabbed his arm. "Matthew, lets go."
"Look in your heart, Matthew. You know this is wrong."
"You be quiet." said the leader.
"You aren't helping anyone."
"I said, be quiet!"
"You think that God is on your side? You think you've helped your cause? You've damned your cause!"
"BE QUIET!" The leader pointed his gun at Ransom.
"NO!" Matthew hit the gun with the cryogenic cylinder in his hand. The gun went off.
"You idiot! I wasn't going to shoot him. I only wanted to scare him." The terrorist leader looked at the floor. It was covered with bits of shattered plastic and the cryogenic fluid that once bathed Beatrice. "Oh God, no!"
A fifth new terrorist walked out of the airlock. "I just got a call from one of our informants. They're dispatching ships from Powell Station heading this way. It's a quick response force from the U.S. Space Guard. We gotta go, I mean now!
The terrorists, all four of them ran after their pilot into the airlock. There was a soft whine as their space vessel detached from the dock and swiftly departed.

Ransom was crouching on the floor, staring intently at a puddle of cryogenic fluid, now at room temperature. There it was. Smaller than the period at the end of a sentence. Dead. Ransom touched it and it stuck to his finger
Ransom stood up and looked at his finger for a moment, looked at the cause of all this trouble. Ransom figured he should put it in a baggy, or something. He thought that he should go and check on those hostages. He should connect with Kilgore Station Security again.
It was totally silent save for the air circulators. Before Ransom left, he stared out the window for a few minutes. It had caught his eye again. It seemed more real to Ransom than anything he had ever seen. He thought that maybe, the blue-green sphere before him was just an embryo for heaven. And for the first time in over a year, he thought that he believed in God again.

Epilogue

2005-07-25T04:20:00.000-07:00

It is hard for me, the author to describe what happens in the ensuing years after the incident on Kilgore Station. Not just what happens to Ransom, but to the entire world. Hopefully the reasons for this difficulty have been adequately explained in this book. I will do my best to describe the following meeting.

The year was 2048. Eighteen years later, in as much as people counted years anymore. The relativity of time had become more readily apparent to people.
The security officer walked out of the lobby of the hotel. "Security officer" being the modern term that best describes his job, but not quite covering all that he does. The officer had a good deal of work this day because of the doctor's convention that the hotel was hosting. Again, "doctor's convention" being a modern term that doesn't really explain all that's happening.
The security officer had to take time from his busy schedule to take care of this one problem. He stepped across the lanai which wound around the side of the hotel and down the steps made of blocks of emerald, jasper, chalcedony, and other common building materials. He stepped off the pathway onto the soft grass and made his way to the large garden that surrounded the hotel for dozens of acres in every direction.
A breeze blew through the leaves of the trees. The officer closed his eyes and spoke to the garden at frequencies invisible to the senses he was born with, using a language much more nuanced and complex than the base-consciousness English speech that he uses most of the time. Most of the time, that is, without taking the relativity of time into account.
When he got the information he desired, he opened his eyes and moved through the garden. He came upon her, standing underneath a tangerine tree.
"Jesse, your father is looking for you."
She looked at him with eyes that revealed her precociousness. "Hello officer. I was just looking for a tangerine tree. My father said that there were tangerines out here."
"There are many fruit trees in the garden. That doesn't mean you should come out here without your parents permission."
"This is an Apopka Gold Tangerine tree."she said. "Descended from the stock developed by Brad McClure of Apopka, Central Florida in 2013 while working for the HGP Biotech Corporation. He devoloped it by cross-pollinating genetically modified stocks already patented by HGP with a stock that he genetically modified himself. I found the tree. I just can't reach any fruits."
He looked at her and shook his head. She couldn't have been more than five years old and already she's able to pull obscure data off the Net and assimilate it into her life. Kids these days. He picked a tangerine for her.
"Is my dad angry?" she asked.
"A little."
"Where is he?"
"Right now, he and your mother are listening to their friend speak."
"Doctor Jesse?"
"Yes." he said.
"I was named after her!"
"Yes, I know. Your father told me all about it. He named you after his friend, Dr Jesse Cohen-Moore. Your mother didn't like the name at first. But changed her mind after she met Dr Jesse."
"You know my father?"
"Your father and I have been friends for a long time. I met him when I was your age. He helped my father out when he went to prison. I've been waiting a long time to see you. But you live on Earth, and I've been going to school on the Mars colony for the past few years. You've grown a lot."
The officer reached out and took Jesse by the hand.
"I'm sorry I made you come look for me."
"It's okay, Jesse. I've been working at the resort on this space station every summer for the past three years. Kids are always losing themselves, especially at the theme park next door."
"How did you find me?"
"The space station told me."
"The space station can talk?"
"Yep. You can talk to the self sufficient biosphere, if you know how."
The two made their way to the hotel. Jesse noticed that he walked with a conspicuous limp. "Did you hurt your leg?"
"No. I hurt my back, a long time ago, before I was born while I was still in my mother's womb. It's hard to walk sometimes. I still have a couple years of therapy left."
"Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes, praise God. I would never trade away that pain."
"I'm sorry if it hurt while you were looking for me."
He laughed. "You are a very considerate young lady. But it's okay, Jesse. Everything is going to be all right."
And with the faith of a child, she believed him.

The International Zone, Baghdad
March, 2005

Acknowledgements

2005-07-25T04:19:00.000-07:00

The essay Jesse mentions in Chapter 5 was written by Vernor Vinge in 1993. The full text of the essay may be found at this site:
http://www.ugcs.caltech.edu/~phoenix/vinge/vinge-sing.html

The comic book Ransom mentions in Chapter 6 is The Forever People #1, written and drawn by Jack Kirby, published by DC Comics in 1971.

Thanks to family and friends who stuck by me during my crisis of faith. You know who you are.

About the Author

2005-07-25T04:15:00.000-07:00

Graham Wolf was born in Orlando and has lived in Florida most of his life. He has worked as a security officer, a pizza deliverator, a movie theatre projectionist, and many other jobs. He is currently deployed to Iraq in service of the US Army. He is non-denominational, and suffers from a disease which causes him to write for some reason. The Seventh Day is his first novel.