David Simpson - Post-Human Trilogy

“I just don’t see the appeal. I like thinking. I enjoy it. Why would anyone purposefully impair their ability to do it?”

Old-timer and Thel looked at each other for a moment before they burst out laughing. “Hopefully you’ll find out at the pub with me tonight,” Old-timer replied before adding, “You ready to fire up the Zeus this morning?”

“Can’t wait.”

Old-timer, like everyone else, was twenty-nine biologically, but he was chronologically 110—the only centenarian on the team. He moved like a young man and had the libido of a young man, but one could tell after only a few moments in his presence that he was a senior. Something seemed to happen to people once they reached a certain age: They seemed to recapture their joy of life, and they often got along best with the younger generations.

“Are you ready, Old-timer?” Thel asked.

“You know I am always ready for an-y-thing,” he replied, leaning in toward the younger woman, putting his arm around her and raising his eyebrow saucily. Only Old-timer could take such liberties with her.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” James said, smiling. “I’ll be in my office for a few minutes. We’ll commence at 9:30 a.m. Pacific. Let everyone know.” James met Thel’s eyes one last time; she could still see through him.

Inside his office, James removed his flight jacket and set his helmet down next to his desk. The office was sparsely decorated, with just a desk in the middle of the room and a couple of chairs. He meant to replicate a plant, but kept forgetting. He hoped Thel would pick one out for him, since she likely had better taste than he did.

A sudden flash appeared in the corner of his vision, activating his mind’s eye. It was Inua Colbe, returning his call. James sighed when he saw the other man and took a moment to collect himself before responding flatly, “Keats here.”

“James? James, I just watched a rather unpleasant message on my phone. What’s the matter with you?”

“I could ask you the same thing. You used my name on a broadcast.”

“And?”

“I know how they think, Inua. I know how the mind works. I know how it works better than anyone. They’ll feel a connection to me, and I don’t want that.”

“Calm down, James. Calm.”

James folded his arms.

Inua reassessed. “How long has it been since we’ve been golfing together?”

“Two years,” James replied, sitting down behind his desk.

“Two years? Two years? Holy…that time with our wives in Arizona? That was—”

“Yes, two years.”

“My, how time flies. Listen, we should go again.”

“Golf? Please tell me you have something better to offer than that.”

“I’m not offering anything,” Inua said, suddenly indignant. “Remember, James, I’m the guy that got you Venus.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, there are still a lot of prominent people down here who want you removed. A faction in the Governing Council thinks the Hektor plan is more practical than yours.”

James smiled. “I agree. Without question, the Hektor plan is a much more practical way of blowing up Venus. On the other hand, if you want to terraform her—”

“You’re being belligerent.”

“Then fire me, Inua.”

“Look, all I am saying is there are a lot of people down here with multiple PhDs who disagree with you.”

“But you agree with me. The Hektor plan is lunacy, and you know it. Smashing an asteroid into Venus to get rid of the atmosphere isn’t going to accomplish anything other than destroying the planet. You have to have a little more finesse than that, Inua. Jesus Christ! You know this.”

“I did you a favor. Don’t bust my balls just because I needed you to do me a favor in return.”

“I’ve done enough favors. All I asked was that I remain anonymous. Was that too much to ask?”

A new strategy flashed into Inua’s eyes. “What are you afraid of, James? You’re afraid you’ll be famous for a little while?”

“Exactly.”

“Let me let you in on a little secret. Fame is a sham—a total sham. It’s spectacle. No one who’s famous deserves it. They’re only famous because the public needs to believe that there are people worth idolizing—it’s the malady of the herd.”

“I know this, Inua.”

“Do you? That’s interesting. And do you also know we’re forecasting a 210 IQ for the general public within a decade?”

James did not respond.

“That’s right. 210. The people will have reached your level.”

“Based on my model?”

“Based on your model. You. The man who knows fame is a sham. Do you think the general public will care about you then, once you’re just like them?”

For the first time in his life, James felt the need to throw up.

“You’re going to live forever, James. Up against forever, ten years of fame won’t seem like much.”

“No. No it won’t.”

“There. You see?” Inua was smiling now. “Even with that big soppy brain of yours, old Inua can still teach you a thing or two. Now try to relax, my friend, and try enjoy the notoriety, okay? And let’s make sure we get together for some golf soon—maybe next week, once people are used to the new upgrade and the PR tour is over. What do you say?”

“I-I hate golf. I’ll take you to a hockey game.”

Inua laughed—it was hollow—a salesman’s laugh. “Okay, old friend. Okay. Goodbye.”

The connection was severed. James swiveled his chair around and faced the glass wall behind his desk. Outside was dark, hot hell.

James glided out of his office and toward the central dome of the lab. There, the other four members of the research team were sitting together near the base of the MP—the four-story tall magnetic propeller that stood in the middle of the lab. It was about twice as thick as the coast redwood trees near his house in Vancouver and built primarily of titanium. Old-timer had taken to calling it Zeus and the name was appropriate; it was worthy of the gods. James activated his mind’s eye and quickly saw that the rest of the team was already signed in and were ready to begin monitoring the test run.

“Feeling lucky, Commander?” Rich called up from his seat next to the other researchers.

“Who needs luck when you have math?” James replied, jokingly.

“Who needs luck when we have you ?” said Thel.

James smiled.

So many things seemed to be wrong in his life. He wasn’t sure exactly what they were—there was just a feeling—like something was slipping away. It wore on him.

Zeus sustained him. These moments made him happy. To accomplish something—something amazing—that sustained him.

His life had not been like other people’s. In a time when infants were born into the world with every genetic advantage known to science, James was exceptional. No one had isolated the genes that could create someone like him—at least not yet.

At the age of six, he designed his first robot. At the age of seven, he designed one that could translate French into English. By the time he was ten, he had programmed it to learn other languages and it became the first speaking universal translator on Earth. The robot was confiscated by the A.I. Governing Council later that year—only one A.I. was allowed to function on Earth—but the Council took note of its young designer, and were quick to put him to work.

James was offered a position in any government field he desired, and he chose terraforming. At that time, the terraforming of the moon was well underway, but a Martian project seemed decades, if not centuries, down the road. James changed all that when he invented the SRS—the Self-Replicating System. He designed dense programs for robots that would blast off to another planet and reproduce. “ Adam” was sent to Mars when James was only fourteen. By the time James was sixteen, Adam had used the available resources on the planet to reproduce 100 times. The resulting work force built a research lab that was ready for human inhabitants the following year. James began commuting to Mars soon thereafter and, only five years later, Mars had been terraformed. Now, fifteen years after the terraforming was complete, Mars had its own city—its own hockey team—and the bastards had beaten the Canucks.