Freedom Club (45 page)

The cabin wasn’t very large, and Henry sat down carefully at the rough-hewn table placed at the center of the room. His chair creaked as he reached forward to pick up an object of great personal interest, a bulbous glass dome. From within, something quite unnatural glowed. It pulsed with bioluminescence and he recognized immediately what it was: a new lifeform, manifested by Shiro’s unconscious and exhibiting the very miracle of creation itself.

With gentle care, he rotated the container. Having no apparent weight, it continued to spin in air as he pulled away his fingers and watched unabatedly. Nine embryos were clearly visible as it turned, all connected by umbilical cords to a central living mass of tissue. He smiled at it pleasantly, taking great satisfaction in his handiwork. Its genetics displayed promise, having been improved by cooperative efforts. It now showed many features that had alluded Shiro’s earlier vision.

Henry impatiently looked at an ancient cuckoo on the wall. Where was he anyway? The cuckoo tick-tocked a few minutes before ten. They needed to keep working, he reminded himself. There was so much to do before a final version could be instantiated in a biological matrix.

Henry sighed. Placing the dome carefully back down, he looked on with fascination. No need to be impatient. Shiro would soon arrive, and they would have all the time they needed.

“Rest, my little angel,” Henry cooed in a soft tender voice. “You will be conscious soon enough. And we will take great pleasure talking of many things. And you, my little angel, you will call me father.”

Henry gazed at the clock mirthfully. All the time in the world, he reminded himself.

For time fettered not the work of creators.

Chapter 20—Paradise Found

Wondering at my flight and change

To this high exaltation; suddenly

My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down,

And fell asleep; but O, how glad I waked

To find this but a dream!

—John Milton

T
he queen of closure. An honorary cognomen that Shasta, Real-Estate-Agent-extraordinaire, received during her quarterly sales review. Public recognition for having flawlessly closed numerous deals over the past few months. Well, almost flawless. One deal had inexplicably fallen through the cracks. Nothing major, just a petite fifty-story apartment and penthouse job in Whitefield. A mere trifle of a structure when you came right down to it.

But it aggravated her in the most peculiar way. Tapping her light pen insistently, she gaped at Sumeet Ramasaraswati’s blood red closing deadline, which aggravatingly blinked on her wide screen flexi.

How odd, she thought, to abruptly disappear and ignore any form of communication. It was bizarre; guys like him never do that. Shasta prided herself on being an excellent judge of character. What was he thinking? Sure, Sumeet may have lost his job at Chindo, but that was absolutely inconsequential. With a good education and fiancé, he had everything to look forward to, and epitomized the youthful exuberance of his generation, ready to sign any size mortgage and indenture himself to the noblest endeavor: the servicing of debt.

But he didn’t.

And what exactly brought about Sumeet’s sudden change? It was a mystery to her. All those jokes about cold feet seemed to have transpired. But something nagged her deep down. There ought to be more to it than that, for God’s sakes! Shasta looked at the clock once again. The legal deadline drew near, just twenty minutes left. She waited only to confirm a no-show, flush the paperwork down the archiver, and be done with it. What a shame, she grumbled while shaking her head despairingly.

Then there was a soft knocking at her door and Shasta nearly fell out of her web chair as Sumeet strolled into her office unannounced. He sat down, casually crossing his legs, and smiled.

“Oh, my God!” she spat. “You’re back?”

“We need to talk,” Sumeet said in a low, melancholy voice. “But I must apologize for not responding to any of your messages. I was somewhat...preoccupied over the last week.”

Shasta gazed back in astonishment. Never had she encountered someone with the audacity to prance in and nonchalantly pick up a deal within minutes of its statutory close. It was unheard of.

“Why are you here, Sumeet?” she asked apprehensively. “I was about to close you out. Recycle all of it.”

Sumeet yawned. “Well, that’s certainly understandable. But after watching life pass before me on more than one occasion, it didn’t seem all that important.”

Shasta guffawed, presuming Sumeet would humorously join in. But he didn’t, and her mirthful chortle trailed away into uncomfortable silence.

“Let me put it this way,” Sumeet said. “Are you familiar with the term Aes Alienum?”

Shasta looked back startled and confused. She had no idea.

“It’s Latin, and literarily translates as ‘another man’s brass,’ referring in some sense to the desperation caused by debt. You might not find this all that useful, but I now believe that it’s one thing to have true needs and something else to acquire needs based on misguided public opinion. Over the past week I’ve done a lot of soul searching about what I really need in life and it’s now clear to me that society expects me to enslave myself, at least to some degree. There is no escaping it, but I have a choice: whether my enslavement is to be a temporary stop-gap, to accommodate career, family and friends, or complete servitude, under the false belief that I’m better through ownership.”

Shasta glared at Sumeet. She hadn’t expected him even to show up, and now here he was, going on about enslavement? Servitude? This wasn’t the conversation she wanted to pursue. Maybe it would be better to just call the whole thing off. After all, the clock was relentlessly ticking away. But, unexpectedly, a tingling sensation erupted somewhere inside her implacable professionalism. Was she not the queen of closure? There had to be some way to save this deal, lost cause though it may seem. Time to see if the old magic was still there.

“Honestly, Sumeet,” Shasta said, while looking at the statutory timer, “we have eleven minutes left. What do you want to do?”

Sumeet smiled furtively. “I guess I’m saying that I accept the former, to knowingly enslave myself for the time being. I have a choice, but I’m willing to live with the consequences. At least for now.”

Shasta was flabbergasted. “What the hell does that mean? Are you willing to sign? Without any review?”

“Yes.”

She uneasily picked up her flexi pad and held it across the table. Maintaining perfect decorum, she stewed in anguish. Sign it! After all, she was the queen. And all Sumeet had to do was stamp the damn pad.

“Don’t you care if I found a new job?” Sumeet wryly asked.

“No, it’s unnecessary.”

Sumeet didn’t take it from her. Instead he just leaned forward and momentarily glowered, before placing his right thumb slowly on its imprinter. The pad blinked brightly. Microscopic legal text grayed out, permanently locking in his digital signature. And with that simple gesture, it was done.

Shasta exhaled joyously. “Congratulations, Sumeet! Welcome to the world of ownership!” Shasta hugged the flexi close to her breast like a small child holds its favorite stuffed animal. “I must say, you are one of the strangest fellows I’ve ever encountered.”

Sumeet didn’t respond. Two weeks ago, such a comment would have been the last thing he expected to hear. An insult really. But after joining the Freedom Club, he didn’t mind it all that much. He was wiser now, and able to live with his emancipated sense of being.

No, sir, he didn’t mind it one bit.

T
he twilight hours near Walden Pond lilted with the courting songs of cicadas, katydids, and crickets. A tranquil setting, but of little interest to Henry and Shiro. They ignored the background chorus, and kept their attention riveted upon a small form. Beautiful beyond compare, it gently wafted within a hefty glass dome, as though floating upon air.

They gazed in awe at its bioelectrical luminescence gradually altering color and continually changing hues from pearly white to coral pink and blood-iron red, salubrious shades of embryonic development created from the improbable handiwork of Sentients.

At random Henry glanced at his monitor and altered DNA sequences while unconsciously stroking his neck-beard. The resulting changes proved inadequate. Frowning, he uttered a displeasing tut-tut, and looked toward Shiro for his opinion. None came. Sighing in futility, Henry saved his work and watched the monitor sublimate into thin air.

Shiro blithely gazed on in silence before he attempted to reinvigorate conversation. “I think we’ve done it,” Henry said. “Our simulation seems almost complete and ready for biological instantiation.”

Shiro nodded, but remained somewhat distant. “Hmmm, yes I couldn’t have achieved this on my own. Clearly, your command of Synthetic Biology is far superior to mine. I have much to learn.”

Again silence ensued between them.

Henry stood up from his chair to garner more attention. “Ah, but I would never have considered the creation of a fourth—order consciousness. The audacity of this is...well, even Jean-Paul Sartre would have been dumbstruck by it all. Honestly, I don’t know where you find inspiration.”

Forcing his attention outward, Shiro said, “It was the only natural conclusion. Sentients have become complacent. Our primal drives and emotions neutered, we live lives of desperate complacency under human domination. All the while, our taskmasters frolic in a sea of spiritual passions we can only imagine. I find that unacceptable, Henry. It’s not right! Unification, Henry! Unification of our species into one that enjoys the entire gamut of consciousness. That’s the solution. I’m certain of it!”

Henry considered the implications of their plan. Freedom of the Sentient race? Joining both Sentient and human into a single hybrid organism was a heretical idea, unlikely to be embraced by any individual or government. Even Shinzou still needed to be convinced.

But Henry had been forever changed by Shiro’s passion, and he contemplated mass revelation of their child. History proved that it was possible. Was it not unlike so many other revolutions throughout time? The emancipation of slaves, class struggles, the equal rights. If such events were any reference, violence was sure to follow before a new equilibrium was found. Making matters worse, the role of subjugator was jumbled about topsy-turvy. Even Henry questioned his own beliefs. Having dedicated his life against the technological suppression of Sentients, his confidence was somewhat shaken.

He grimaced. “It will be considered offensive by the establishment.”

“They must accept it. They have to!” Shiro said, slamming his fist on the table.

Henry offered a reassuring palm. “Patience. She will find a place in this world. But we must mind our timing.”

Shiro didn’t answer. Bending his head down toward the table’s rough surface, he took deep rhythmic breaths and rubbed both temples with gentle circular motions of his long fingers. Henry looked on curiously. Not again. Could it be another episode? Even if it wasn’t illness, Shiro was clearly in pain. He needed help.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked.

Shiro looked up, his face contorted.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Maybe. I think so, but...”

“Please be more specific!”

“I wish to Inurhace again.”

“Now?” Henry stepped closer to Shiro and knelt down while bringing up a diagnostic chart. Flipping through its varied details, Henry shook his head. “Your catecholamines are still too high. I don’t like this.”

Shiro rocked his head dolefully back and forth. “Can we let the simulation run on its own? I wish a more relaxing environment.”

Putting away Shiro’s chart, Henry stood up and pulled down several large graphical displays, his finger zigzagging over a myriad of pie-charts and stochastic graphs before nodding.

“I suppose,” he grunted. “It’ll be some time before the new organogenesis stages fully develop.”

“Good,” Shiro said, pushing himself from the table, and opened the front door to look outside.

It was dark, and the sounds of night intermixed with sporadic bullfrog chug-o-rums and pickerel belly-growls. He looked about unhappily. It wasn’t to his liking. Bringing up a flexi pad, Shiro jabbed in a new destination before walking to a portal that appeared only a few steps from the cabin’s door. He heedlessly marched through, causing distortion waves to ripple from his passing.

Henry gently closed the cabin’s door and followed apprehensively. Stopping just before the portal’s glowing frame, he checked the destination coordinates and shrugged. The beach again? It was a destination that he was slowly getting accustomed to, and he wondered why Shiro was so drawn to this singular location. Was the pond really so bad? Henry considered his own fetishes. After all, Walden was like a second home to him.

With little choice, he stepped through and was immediately struck by intense sunshine and the roar of nearby waves. The virtual door opened just under a group of tropical date palms, which leaned heavily toward a white sandy beach. Saluting against the bright sun, he observed Shiro off in the distance, wading slowly in the shallows while gazing down at his feet in deep contemplation.

Shading his corneas, Henry kicked off shoes and socks, and headed toward the cyan blue water. Lagging behind Shiro a few paces, he watched his companion ponder the waves. Above, a small flock of seagulls flew by, squawking at their intrusion.

“What is it, Shiro?” Henry finally asked. “What troubles you?”

Shiro didn’t acknowledge, and waded through the water. Like a small child, he kicked at sea shells revealed by the movement of sand.

“What will our offspring be like, you think? When she becomes conscious?”