James Halperin - The First Immortal

Again Gary nodded.

“I think it’s like our fear of spiders. Even infants seem scared of them. I think spiders used to bite us in the darkness—in the caves.”

Gary tipped him a smile.

“That’s why this Nemesis thing is going to become a nightmare. Or could. We’ll need to be allies in this, son. For once, we have the better perspective.”

Gary offered a broad grin.

It wasn’t until he was halfway home that Ben realized how much he’d enjoyed talking to his son, and also, that Gary had never uttered a single word.

July 25, 2096

—In what begins in Tokyo as a peaceful symposium on the Nemesis threat, seventeen partisans are temporarily injured when heated arguments come to blows. Most of the violence appears to have been initiated by Machine Rights activists who want immediate repeal of all software regulations prohibiting emotions, sentience, or survival instincts from being programmed into machines. “Right now, we desperately need every ally we can create,” asserts Rightist leader Bar Safreit. World President Lewis Erinplah has described the Rightist solution as “borderline insane.”—In the midst of the so-called Nemesis Panic, former United States President David West and his wife Dr. Diana Hsu West joyously announce the impending rebirth of their son, Justin, who died from a genetic disorder in March 2013 at the age of 10 months. Justin West was cloned from repaired DNA in February, immediately after World Government AIs determined that the comet shower from the Nemesis/Oort intersection would begin to reach Earth during mid-2308, and that the Nemesis Singularity itself would arrive by early 2309. In a Worldscreen interview, David West states, “Diana and I made this decision based on our love of life, and our unshaken confidence in the capacity of the human spirit to overcome any obstacle.”—In Tulum, near the ancient Mayan ruins on the Yucatan Peninsula of the state of Mexico, 470 people are discovered dead from an apparent mass suicide. The site is thought to have attracted the so-called Judgment Day cult because of its proximity to the impact point of one of the dinosaur-killer comets, and because the cult professed that this area possessed holy connection to Mayan astronomers. All victims stabbed themselves in the heart with ceremonial daggers, each bearing a stylized likeness of a comet on its haft. Another 41 who did not strike themselves mortal blows have received emergency restoration and cerebral repatterning, and will survive with memories intact. Unfortunately, because the historical area closes from 5:00 P.M. to 9:00 A.M., the fatal victims are beyond the help of nanotech.

A familiar face filled Ben’s VR pod. This one was young, the real McCoy.

It wasn’t much of a trick to tell the twenty-something faces from those merely appearing to be twentyish. Their eyes told him. Something about their color—their sheen—advertised real youth, middle age, or the deep glowing depth that came only with wisdom. The difference wasn’t something Ben could put into words, though he figured an artist like Gary could.

Ben had also found he could differentiate yesterworlders like himself from the main body of humanity. He could tell them by their facial expressions; by their responses to dubious ideation or outright silliness. His fellow survivors from the bygone days were quicker to display cynical reactions. And they were more easily infuriated on those occasions when he screwed up and became patronizing or preachy. Ben supposed folks who’d been steeped in the poison of Watergate, the O. J. Simpson mess, and the Nobine mouse fraud, were by definition apt to be less trusting, and less susceptible to suggestion.

Raised in a world virtually free of what these people called greed-lies—as opposed to leave-me-alone lies or politeness-lies—new-timers had built up little resistance to fantasy or speculation cults, clubs, and parties. Offering one’s particular spin on what might have happened, why something happened, or what could conceivably occur in the future, had nothing to do with lying per se. Unfortunately, the results could be as bad as any lie. The potential for damage, when such illusions were foisted on the genuine innocents of these new times, seemed limitless.

The voice of Ronald Berry invaded Ben’s aural canals. This kid was barely twenty-two years old, handsome and marginally intelligent for a new-timer, but in no epoch was he anybody’s genius. He’d never had to work hard for anything, Ben understood. Like most of his generation, Ron’s critical-thinking capacity seemed severely underdeveloped.

“There’s all this evidence, dontya see?” the boy was saying. “Life on Earth came from outer space. Water came from comets and they had these microbes in ‘em and that’s where everything came from. After the comets start hitting in 2308, then people from Nemesis’ll come down again and redo everything, dontya see? Change everything in the whole world. So what’s the point anyway? Everything’ll just change no matter what we do. They’re coming and that’ll be that. Dontya see?”

What a weird world this had become, Ben thought. Infinitely better in so many ways, infinitely safer and more intelligent. Yet the same people who scored off-the-charts on twelve-dimensional intelligence tests could turn into imbeciles when faced with intellectual voodoo.

Ron needed help Ben decided he couldn’t give him. Perhaps psychiatric drug therapy, and maybe even a prolonged stay in a so-called safe environment. Ben’s fingers signaled out a callback message to Ron’s mother, who had arranged this counseling session to begin with. Ron was age-of-consent, but Ben assumed that she would care enough to intervene with a flash-petition to her local magistrate.

“Those people down in Yucatan had it right, but they were stupid, too, dontya know? Killed themselves for no reason.”

“Oh?” Ben took heart, until the boy continued:

“Yeah, those aliens, the ones who live around Nemesis, only come to Egypt, dontya know? That’s the place they’ll find us; we’re the disciples, dontya know? Lottie Crayton, she’s the one who’s had the visions. Says we can all go live with them… forever. None of us, none of the disciples, ever have to die. Not really, anyway. She’s gonna wait for ‘em in Egypt. I’m gonna go, too.” Ron took a breath.

Ben decided he’d better not waste any time with this one. Young Ron didn’t seem far from core meltdown, from going cuckoo, as they used to say when Ben was a kid. He would give the boy a quick verbal shock treatment, then try to do what he could for him.

“Ron,” Ben said, his voice ten decibels too loud. The boy’s eyes looked distant, glazed, nonresponsive. “Ron!” he yelled.

Ron’s eyes flew open. Ben had his attention. “That’s stupid, Ron. Stupid! You listen to crap like that, you’ll ruin your life.”

“Huh?” Ron flinched, as though no one had ever spoken to him that way before. And perhaps no one ever had. But there wasn’t time for gentle words or subtle philosophy with this kid. Wake him up, then get him some heavy duty help: That was the only way that ever worked with this sort of problem.

“B-But Lottie Clayton… We all scipped her,” Ron complained. “Lottie’s telling the truth!”

“That’s right, Ron. Lottie is not lying. She’s not delusional or clinically pathological, either. Back a hundred, hundred fifty years ago, Lottie is what we would’ve called a ditz. She is so, hmmm, intellectually challenged, she believes her own vivid dreams represent truth.

“Look, Ron. I’m not going to pull any punches with you. Lottie Crayton is an articulate, charismatic idiot. Do not listen to her. You’ve been raised in such an innocent world, you’re susceptible to stuff like this. And being human, you resist the notion that your soul is anything less than eternal, even though there is absolutely no evidence either way. Listen to me, Ron: This life might well be all you get. Nobody knows. Nobody can know. Don’t gamble everything you have on some entity or being that no living person has ever seen outside of their dreams and visions and fantasies. Cherish what you know you have: your life. Here. Now. On Earth. I’ve got friends who can help you understand this better, Ron. But they’ll need to visit you in person instead of by VR. Is that okay?”