No Geek Rapture for Me_I'm Old School

by Jonelle Renald

  Back on the third floor of Flanagan Hall, Mia saw someone waiting in the reception area of the English Department. Seated behind her desk, all alone, the only person left in the darkened office area was Jan, still visibly shaken by what had happened earlier that morning, her eyes red and smeared with mascara.

  “Did they talk to you?” Jan asked. “Have you accepted their offer? I can’t believe it. Edgestow College gone! Sold off! So many people let go this morning. It was awful, a massacre! They herded all us clerical people into a conference room on the second floor, then took us one at a time into an office across the hall where they told everybody the news that Edgestow College was closing, that just about everybody was losing their job. I heard them tell people, ‘Sign this non-discover agreement saying that you won’t talk about nothing that happened today — at all — and you’ll get nine months’ severance pay.’ But I’m not laid off yet, I didn’t sign no form yet, so I can still talk about it. Then, bawling their eyes out, each one that was fired was given a cardboard box and then was escorted by two iCon security guards back to their desk, who stood and watched while they emptied out their things. And then downstairs at the exit, more guards went through their box, checking for contraband and any other equipment people might try to boost, I guess. It’s the worst thing I ever seen. People marched into and out of that office, scared to go in, stunned and crying when they came out. After awhile, I was taken back here and told that if you stay, I can stay too. Keep my job if you accept their offer. What have you decided? I hope you decide to stay. I need this job, I need to keep working.”

  Upset by her distress, Mia said, “I know you do, Jan.” She sat in the chair next to Jan’s desk, taking off her mittens, scarf, and coat. “Edgestow College has gone under! I’m shocked too — been knocked off kilter and lost my balance myself. Haven’t even opened the envelope from iCon yet, so I don’t know exactly what their offer is. It’s very difficult to imagine what they would want me to do, why they’d want to keep me on. I’ll be taking some time this weekend to look at everything and decide what I should do.” Mia put her hand on Jan’s arm. “Don’t worry. They told me about their offer to keep you on if I accept the job. I’m sorry I can’t give you better news right away. I don’t mean to keep you in suspense, but I need time to decide what’s what. I couldn’t possibly give you or iCon an answer today. But don’t worry, I will keep you in mind while I’m deciding what to do. I’ll let you know by Sunday.”

  Hearing this, Jan gave a heavy sigh and looked down, as if she was about to cry again.

  “Go home, Jan,” Mia told her. “Don’t worry about the phones or anything here. Go home now.” She handed Jan her coat. “Go home, and I’ll call you Sunday evening at the latest to let you know my decision. They gave me until Monday first thing to decide.”

  Jan nodded and stood up to leave. Mia gave her a hug and said, “Try not to worry — everything will work out for the best.”

  She waited until Jan was gone, then went into her office, closed the door, put her coat and things on the window sill, and cleared a space on her desk. In high school, she had promised herself she would never work in a corporate business environment because it wouldn’t suit her talents or temperament. Or personal inclinations. She didn’t think she could ever fit in with the imposed hierarchy, didn’t think she would ever be able to embrace the notion that the more salary a person made, the more elevated a person they were. She thought, “If I ever owned a corporation, the best janitor who does their very best for the company would have a chance for making as much or more than an average middle-management drone. The people at the top aren’t more essential or valuable than the people at the bottom. Everyone contributes and should be paid accordingly.”

  Taking a deep breath, Mia said out loud, “Well, here goes.” She emptied the kraft envelope contents detailing iCon’s offer out onto the desk, spun the papers around, and started reading the job offer. “Oh, no!” The position, director level (whatever that might mean), was in the Corporate Communications and Investor Relations Department. Mia knew nothing about public relations. What little experience she did have with “communicating” came from acting as admin for the fencing club’s social media platforms, posting news and updates, providing cheery and funny messages for the group. Occasionally she would get compliments and good responses to her posts, but she knew that these posts were strictly amateur stuff. At an international corporation like iCon, everyone would have studied public relations in college and gotten degrees in that field. How could her amateur efforts ever catch the attention, or approval of professionals? How could she hope to earn her keep when she knew next to nothing about what they did?

  Taking a closer look at the contents of the envelope, on the plus side, the salary was outstanding, double what she was making as a tenured professor, with exceptional health insurance, vacation benefits, retirement plans that included stock option purchases. Other items — a brochure providing a history of iCon and its financial successes that also mapped out goals and visions for the future. A W-4 form, a personal contact information form, health insurance application forms. A form requiring she make a doctor’s appointment for drawing blood at a clinic in Cedar Falls so they could run wellness tests for their insurance program. A multi-page non-disclosure agreement — a big immediate negative. As far as she could tell from deciphering the legalese, she was permitted to admit she worked for Integrated Computer Operating Networks. Anything further and she would have to get prior approval, in writing, for whatever she might want to publish or say in public. This was a big red flag to her concerning the corporate culture and workplace environment. Obviously, things at iCon were very buttoned up, the top executives taking total control of their mushroom farm. Mia quietly, “Keep them in the dark and feed them —.” The phone next to her elbow jangled, and she jumped a little. “Frack!”

  It was Dr. Harper, head of the former English Department at the now defunct Edgestow College. “Mia, glad I caught you! Did you get the papers from iCon?”

  “Yes, even though their offer makes no sense. Why would they want me to work in their Corporate Communications and Investor Relations Department? I’m not qualified to be there, and I have nothing to offer toward their dreams of quote, improving humanity, close quote. All the material they gave me talks about wanting people who are passionate about their mission. Which I’m not. Definitely not. It sounds more like signing up to be a convert or a missionary, and not so much like agreeing to take a job. I have no idea why they want me there.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You are an excellent writer and researcher, and have a wonderful talent for presenting complicated ideas in a very clear and understandable way. I propose that it’s your writing talent that has interested them in you. With this job at iCon, you would be writing for a worldwide audience. Their company will be doing cutting edge research into new technologies, contributing to the early dawn of the transhumanist movement, Mia. What they are working on will literally change the shape of the future for the entire globe. It will be like working for NASA in the 1960s — you’ll have an insider’s view of history in the making, while the rest of the world won’t find out anything about it until five to ten years later when it’s written up in the history books. This really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “Thank you for that, Stephen. You make it sound attractive and very appealing. I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind while I’m making my decision this weekend. How is Betty taking the news that Edgestow College has closed?”

  “Oh! It’s been a shock ever since we found out, and she hasn’t stopped swearing at iCon and the administration of Edgestow College yet. I’m not sure what I will do yet, but we’ll be able to work this out together. She’s a gutsy woman, an unparalleled help to me. Next week, you’ll have to join us for a get-together at The Airship with everybody. A farewell to Edgestow College party.”

  As Mia hung up the phone, she thought, �
��Well, that puts a different spin on it. See how the future is created, instead of digging up the bones of the past. That certainly sounds like it could be a worthy goal for a person, even if you don’t feel passionate about the work.”

  But was being on the cutting edge of history enough of a reason to work for a scientific institute like iCon when she didn’t have a compatible mindset? The job at iCon wasn’t a perfect fit for her, but staying on would help Jan, help her keep her job. Now that Jan’s eighty-something mom had moved in with her, Mia knew how desperately she needed to have no interruptions in her salary.

  And Mia really wanted to be able to help Jan, who had a good heart and had always taken such good care of everyone in the English Department. Remembering birthdays and anniversaries, bringing in homemade treats, offering to help make last-minute copies, or running interference for you when you desperately needed a quiet hour in your office alone. And her loyalties had extended to the entire college. An enthusiastic supporter of Edgestow College’s athletic teams, Jan went to all home games and to away games as much as possible. She always said that if someone cut her, she’d bleed maroon and white, Edgestow’s colors. Whenever Mia took her car in to the dealer’s garage in Prairie du Chien for repairs or maintenance, Jan would pick her up there in the morning and in the evening give her a ride back to pick up the car. And once when Mia needed dental surgery to remove a wisdom tooth, Jan had gone with her to Decorah so she wouldn’t have to drive herself home afterward. All that plus chicken soup brought to her house to help combat the flu.

  Suddenly, Mia remembered the recent dinner at The Airship, how the people from iCon at the table behind her had constantly complained about Barrow Heights and Iowa and then had laughed at Jan. Was there a toxic work atmosphere at iCon? How representative of the company were those people — how many of the people that worked there were as mean and snarky as they had been?

  So many considerations to think about. And only a couple of days to figure it all out.

  7 | Rash

  It had been a challenging weekend trying to strategize her next move. First, she checked online for jobs available for a suddenly unemployed college English professor with a PhD in Renaissance and medieval literary studies (nothing immediately available), and only then did she start researching iCon, trying to add up all the positives and negatives, good/not good qualities, so she could determine what was the best thing to do. She had struggled for hours to gather as much information as she could, not wanting to make a rash decision. In the end, Mia decided that the money (double salary!) and keeping Jan employed would be the deciding factors governing what she should do for now. In the meantime, she would keep looking for another faculty opening, a place to teach English lit at a college.

  Logically, she was satisfied with her decision. However, she couldn’t fight off a nagging feeling that she was about to make a disastrous mistake. She still had no idea what to do with the message she had received — “He has no room for you.” Obviously, it signified something, but she couldn’t figure out what it meant or how to take any action on the message. It seemed foolish to base a rejection of iCon on strange experiences, vague feelings, and unexplainable impressions. So she brushed aside the still, small voice saying, “Don’t,” and on Sunday night went ahead and emailed her acceptance of the offer to iCon, followed by a phone call to Jan, letting her know the good news. If it was good news.

  Looking back over the weekend, Mia felt like she had gone on a very long and uphill journey. First thing Saturday morning, Mia’s thoughts had been centered on how unsuited she felt for the new job at iCon, no matter what Dr. Harper had said about her skills in writing. Although joining iCon in order to take part in changing history by shaping the future sounded intriguing, Mia still didn’t see how she had a significant part to play in it. Beginning her online research into iCon, she discovered their focus on providing hardware and software for transhumanism. After researching transhumanism (also known as Humanity+ or H+) for several hours, she was no longer intrigued by the idea behind it. Were there really people who would volunteer to have their body or mind united with technology to live longer with installed mental enhancements? Yes! A growing number, according to online sources. Why? Mia couldn’t see the attraction when there was an incredible real world to live in. Calling H+ an evolutionary leap forward seemed like a contrived label for a questionable utopia offering what amounted to a reduction in life and not a leap forward.

  It was lunchtime and she needed a break.

  Steering her two-wheeled cart out to the car and with some struggle, she got the statue of Jesus the shepherd out of the trunk of her car, up the three steps onto the porch, and into the house. All without breaking anything. After some consideration, she placed the three foot tall statue by the front window across from the sofa and between one of her wing chairs and the fireplace. Having the image of Jesus holding the little lamb in her house made her very glad that she had forgotten to ask Jan to find another home for it. The white limestone statue was offering the same benediction in her living room that it had offered in the atrium next to Edgestow Hall. She couldn’t help smiling looking at it.

  After the research she did Saturday afternoon, her dislike of transhumanist/Humanity+ concepts had increased, and she was no longer sure she could support the idea in any way. In less than twelve hours, she had uncovered that she had a conflict, a deep down core level conflict with iCon’s goals and their ultimate pursuits. She also researched the Geek Rapture and discovered it was a term describing the translation of human consciousness into computer code in order to live a supposedly unlimited life. Upload your Self and reside eternally in a virtual reality residing in a computer environment or transfer into a robotic cyborg body or unite with an AI. To her, it sounded like volunteering for Hell, not digital Nirvana. In Hugo de Garis’ terms, she knew she would be on the side of the Terrans who oppose mechanized life. She could never be a Cosmist supporting the rule of the Artilects, his name for the intelligent machines about to take over in the near future. Giving up the life God had been given her at birth, leaving your body to turn yourself into a string of ones and zeros? No way she’d ever do that.

  There was another segment of the people interested in Humanity+ — those who sought physical enhancement through technology, wetware, and software. They wanted to upgrade their physical bodies and sensory perceptions by adding animal DNA to change their appearance and enhance their senses and abilities, implanting WiFi chips into the brain to facilitate communicating digitally, injecting nanites into the blood stream to make repairs as needed in the body that promote better health and longer life, using prosthetic appliances to relay sensory information to the brain.

  She was surprised to learn that a man in England, Neil Harbisson, had received legal status as a cyborg more than a decade ago. According to one online encyclopedia, “Harbisson states that he became a cyborg when the union between his organism and his antenna created a new sense.” Photos showed portraits of Harbisson with an antenna attached to the top of his head, surgically implanted through the skull, directly connected with his brain, its other end extending forward to dangle above his eyes, as a help to deal with his extreme color blindness. He called the implant an eyeborg, a sensor device that translates colors into sound, altering tone according to hue and color intensity. As a result, Mozart sounds yellow to him, a phone’s dial tone is green, and pop music registers as pink. With this technology, he can look into his eyeborg and “see” colors (infrared and ultraviolet) that other people can’t perceive with their eyes. Also, the antenna comes with a wireless connection so he can receive phone calls directly to his brain. Mia also noticed that his original surgery had not been approved by a bioethics committee, but he went ahead and found a surgeon to secretly do the procedure anyway. Even though she was happy the tech had helped with his limitations, beyond the technology, she found the photos disturbing. Emotionally, viscerally disturbing. Because he didn’t need to be
a cyborg, have the tech implanted. He could carry it as an app made for his smart phone. She was surprised how uncomfortable it made her feel to see the antenna permanently attached to his skull.

  For others, the H+ upgrades had practical goals like improved efficiencies in recordkeeping through inserting RFID chips under the skin to archive a person’s entire financial and medical history and to broadcast your location 24/7. Another category of physical enhancements being researched was the development of genetically tweaked super soldiers who don’t need to eat or sleep, who were stronger and smarter, who would not react to pain of any kind. The promised results for an enhanced physical body might sound like a giant step forward, but to Mia, it also seemed like it would leave you not quite human anymore. With the additional issue that any changes made to DNA would be permanent, not like a tattoo that affected only the person who got inked. Genetic mutations would be passed down to children who would be permanently stuck with the germline alterations, having no say in their parents’ decision to give up their humanity.