Artificial Absolutes (Jane Colt Book 1)
Page 3
Adam smiled. “Of course not. I’ve just heard it a thousand times, and you had it written all over your face.”
Jane crossed her arms. “Well, don’t judge me for being realistic. Uyfi is one of the most lawless Fringe planets out there. You’d be lucky to get one throne of donated money past the warlords.”
Adam leaned against the pew across the aisle from her. “I’m not judging you. You’re probably right.”
What? Jane tilted her head. “Then why do you bother?”
“Because they need our help, and even the littlest bit still counts for something, doesn’t it?”
Jane disagreed vehemently. She pressed her mouth shut to keep from saying anything and turned her attention back to the swirls. The bright-eyed seminary guy was idealistic to a fault. She didn’t feel like wasting her breath arguing with someone clearly delusional.
“Now you think I’m an idiot for being so idealistic.” Adam sounded amused.
Jane kept her gaze on the carved pew, feeling along the smooth wooden edges. “Was that written all over my face too?”
“You do have a very expressive face.”
Jane gave up on using the pew as a distraction and faced Adam. “Then I might as well say it: I don’t believe in religion.”
A rant bubbled inside her, churning up her chest and onto her tongue. Whenever the urge came over her, she found it almost impossible to suppress. Whenever she tried, everyone could tell she had something to say anyway. Ranting had gotten her into a lot of trouble before, and it was about to make a good-natured priest wannabe hate her. Oh, well.
Adam’s eyes twinkled with a teasing spark. “All right, let’s hear it.”
Jane pushed off the pew she leaned against. “Look, I know this is your way of life and all, but I think religion is an outdated practice designed to manipulate people.” She fumed about the past atrocities committed in the name of the Absolute Being and the hypocrisies of the ancient texts and the downright foolishness of the notion that people still listened to teachings written thousands of years ago. “Even the name of your deity’s bogus. The only reason Via call the Absolute ‘the Absolute’ is because half the galaxy’s reduced God to a figure of speech. People only cling to this nonsense because they’re too freaking weak to acknowledge the truth: that we’re all alone in a messed-up universe and have to figure it out for ourselves.”
She’d been too wrapped up in her own arguments to pay attention to Adam’s reactions. He hadn’t tried to interject. She figured she’d offended him into silence.
But he didn’t look angry or anything; he looked interested. He met her glare with a friendly smile, one without any trace of irony. “I don’t entirely disagree with you. Via has been used as an excuse far too many times, and the Absolute has been called upon under all kinds of absurd circumstances. Too many people use religion as a vehicle for power.”
Okay… Wasn’t expecting that. Jane blinked, surprised. “So I ask again: why do you bother?”
“The Via institution may be flawed, but if it can help people live fulfilling lives and guide them to do good, is there really anything wrong with that?”
The discussion had continued well into the scheduled rehearsal. Jane found herself liking the guy despite herself. Contrary to her initial assessment, he was not an idiot. She disagreed with him about many things, but he was the first person she’d met in a while with whom she could be her real, perhaps somewhat odd, self. It helped that he was attractive.
Jane had eventually curtailed the debate and found the choir. When she’d finished, she saw Adam still there, dedicated to making the best of an event she believed was a sham. She’d found something inviting about his enthusiasm and stayed to help him, even attending the dumb shindig and wasting her money on a contribution.
After that, she’d met up with him often, since neither had any other real friends in the city. Adam was new in town, and Jane’s schoolmates had all returned to their homeworlds after graduation. She discovered she liked Adam’s company, despite her professed status as another Colt loner.
About a week back, she’d found out from her father that Devin proposed to Sarah about two weeks before. Jane had been furious, not only because her dear brother hadn’t bothered telling her about his life-changing decision, but also because of how stupid she found the whole thing.
Adam had noticed Jane’s crankiness when she’d met him at the seminary shortly after. “What’s wrong?”
Jane responded with a tirade about how she probably knew more about the woman who sat near her at work than about her own brother. She waved her arms for emphasis as she marched down the campus path, too livid to care if she looked like a lunatic. “He’s barely known Sarah six months! Who marries someone they’ve only known for six months? It’s the most irrational, blockheaded thing ever! I’ll bet he’s trying to seal the deal before she gets famous and some holodrama star steals her from him.”
Jane paused in a huff and was about to launch into a fresh diatribe when Adam stepped in front of her.
“Say, Jane, do you want to go out sometime?”
Huh? She stopped in her tracks and stared dumbly, wondering if she’d heard him right. “But… But you’re my friend. Won’t it be weird?”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“But…” Jane’s gaze fell on the seminary’s temple. “Are Counselors allowed to date? Aren’t they supposed to be married to the Absolute or something?”
“Jane, you’re smarter than that. The Via have never had any celibacy laws. That’s Origin.”
“Right…”
Jane realized that she was fishing for excuses. She almost said, “Adam, you don’t want to date me. I’m obnoxious, volatile, insensitive… Ask any of my exes.”
Truth be told, the thought of maybe, perhaps, potentially becoming more than friends had crossed her mind. She had been quick to dismiss it because she considered Adam to be more of a best friend type than boyfriend material. Then again, that was supposed to be the best kind. Her past romantic entanglements with fascinating artists and sophisticated charmers had ended up superficial, disappointing, and brief.
So on a whim, she’d said, “Okay, let’s give it a shot.”
Jane stepped onto the station platform of the airtrain she took every morning to work, thoughts of Adam still whirling in her head. Other than the fact they called their meet-ups “dates,” nothing had really changed between them. Which was a relief.
The steel-gray airtrain snaked around the skyscrapers. The doors opened as soon as it pulled into the station. Jane shuffled inside with the other commuters and took the nearest seat. Even though technology had long ago made it possible to never leave home—work, shopping, and anything else one might want could all be done through the Net—most companies, including her own, encouraged commuting to maintain the psychological health of their workers.
They probably had a point, but Jane, waiting for the train to move, still despised the daily ritual of sitting around with dozens of dull-eyed office workers. The journey itself only took a minute or so, but intersecting routes meant that the train sat at the station for several minutes waiting for the signal to go.
She drummed her fingers impatiently, wondering why no one had invented teleportation yet. They’d figured out how to tunnel through the space-time fabric and send communications through hyperspace. How hard could it be to dice people into molecules?
Actually, that sounds horrible. Never mind.
Bored, she eavesdropped on two businesswomen in the seats across from her.
The large woman with a pompous face sniffed. “It’s ridiculous. They treat us like criminals, making us prove our identity with DNA and other such inconveniences. I wish they could simply round up those cybercriminals—what do they call them again? Demons?—so we can vote remotely and save precious time!”
“No! What happened?”
“Well, there was that political commentator… I forget his name, but he was very influential on the Net… Glen! Paladin Glen!”
“What about him?”
The stylish woman leaned toward her companion as though telling a secret. “He’s not real. He’s a fictional character created by the Gag Warriors. That’s why his face is always obscured in videos and his voice always sounds disguised. It’s not to protect his identity; it’s because they’re computer-generated!”
The large woman sputtered in disbelief. Jane mentally echoed her sentiments. As someone who detested Paladin Glen, she found it funny that he and his bizarre opinions were a Gag Warriors prank. She agreed with the stylish woman that it was an awful waste of intelligence.
All hackers are freaking yahoos. Why else would they call themselves “demons”?
“The airtrain is about to depart. Destination: Quasar Bank Corporation headquarters. All aboard, please.”
A handful of latecomers rushed onto the train as the scarlet warning light blinked. One last man in a black suit dashed on as the doors closed, barely making it through.
Jane recognized him immediately. Tall and square-shouldered, a picture-perfect figure who could have walked right out of one of Quasar’s ads. Clean cut, clean shaven, wavy locks kept at a fashionable length. What a tool. Yup, that’s my brother.
“Devin!” The train gave off a loud ring at the same time, drowning her out.
Jane lived in the same building as Devin and worked at the same office, but she rarely saw him unless she scheduled something. He worked much longer hours than she did, so she was surprised to see him on her usual commuter train.
As the train started moving, she approached him. “Devin?”
Devin typed furiously on his slate, engrossed in whatever he was doing.
“Hey, Devin! Hello?” He was still caught up in that freaking device, so Jane snatched it. “Devin Colt! This is your sister speaking! How are you today?”
“What?” Devin looked confused, then annoyed. “Pony, give that back.”
“I think I outgrew ‘Pony’ about ten years ago.” Jane looked at his slate. He’d been in the middle of an instant message conversation with someone with the Netname Corsair. Topic of discussion: robots. Apparently, there was one that could solve riddles. “Robots? Really?”
“It’s not your concern.” Devin took the slate back.
Jane raised her hands sarcastically. “Sorry. Didn’t realize your robot discussions were so private.”
“They’re not.” He folded the slate and put it in his pocket.
Jane plopped down in the seat beside him. “What’re you doing here? I never run into you on the morning train.”
“Just running late. How are you? How’s work going? What are you doing today?”
Jane sighed. She sometimes felt as though she and her brother had run out of things to talk about. “I’m-fine-work’s-fine-not-much-meeting-Adam-for-lunch.” She strung her words together in a bored monotone.
Devin nodded. “Good.”
“So… how’s Sarah?”
“Good.”
The train arrived at the Quasar platform, and the doors opened. Devin pulled his slate out again as he stepped off the train.
Jane followed him. “Hey, we haven’t caught up in a while. Do you have time for dinner this week? Just you and me, no Dad or Sarah?”
Devin didn’t reply, even though he was right beside her. He tapped his slate as if she were invisible.
Annoyed, Jane stopped and watched him disappear into the crowd of commuters. “Love you too, bro.”
Copy-paste, copy-paste, pull-data, copy-paste… Did anyone even read those stupid reports?
As Jane trudged through another mind-numbing day at Quasar, her thoughts wandered back to her run-in with her brother. Why had Devin been so distracted? Or had he really cared more about someone on the other side of a screen than the person right in front of him? The latter seemed rather sad, but he was far from the only one guilty of it; she’d often done the same to Adam.
Pull-data, copy-paste, run-app, copy-paste…
Jane gave her eyes a break from the screen and looked around. As always, the office was full of well-groomed employees arranged in tidy rows, immersed in their work. It was exactly as it looked in the Quasar ads: Vibrant. Engaged. Energetic. It was smart. It was efficient.
It was the loneliest place she’d ever known.
Still resting her eyes, Jane looked up at the internal defense guns mounted on the ceiling. Yes, the office had guns in it. Every major building in the galaxy did. Have one deadly attack on a high-profile place, and suddenly they’re standard issue. Yikes.
The thought of going back to her copy-paste-pull-data made her brain hurt. Instead, Jane did what she, as a very bad employee, often resorted to when the monotony got the best of her: gaze at the giant fish tank across the room and daydream.
A bright green fish, translucent fins flowing behind it like a pair of scarves, swam across the aquarium. Fuy Lae. That species is from Fuy Lae in the Zim’ska Re system.
What a pity Zim’ska Re was such a dangerous part of the galaxy. The beauty of its planets was legendary.
Maybe one day an alien race would be discovered. Not extraterrestrial creatures from other star systems like that fish. Intelligent aliens, as advanced as or more advanced than humans. Maybe they would be wiser, see everything wrong with a society in which status determined success and happiness was measured in numbers. Maybe they could introduce humans to a new way of living, one that allowed them to untangle their desires and release themselves from material pressures.
Maybe those hypothetical aliens sounded a lot like Adam.
Jane set her tray down on the café table. “I don’t have much time. I have so much work, I really shouldn’t leave my desk today. There’s data to be pulled and put into pretty charts! I seriously wonder how they haven’t managed to replace me with a computer.”
Adam took the seat across from hers. “I actually don’t have much time either. I volunteered to help out at a shelter in the city’s Outer Ring this afternoon.”
“Of course you did.” Jane unwrapped her utensils.
Adam smiled. “I know, I know. ‘Why do you waste your time with these things? The marginal difference they make is negligible.’”
Jane pointed at him. “Exactly!” She was desperately hungry, despite having barely moved all day. She started scarfing her dish of Eryatian meats and fruits, which had been arranged in a rosette on her plate before she wrecked it.
“Jane?”
Jane swallowed a bite. “Hm?”
“How do you feel about capital punishment?”
Seriously? Talk about an appetite-killer! She looked up. “Why do you always drop these heavy, meaning-of-life type questions on me?”
Adam backed away. “Sorry… I’m just… curious, I guess. We can talk about something else.”
I’m full anyway. Jane put her utensils down. “It’s okay. I think capital punishment’s necessary. I mean, the prison planets are full-up as it is, and there are some truly horrible people out there. Why?”
Adam’s gaze fell. “I started taking my… medical courses yesterday.”
“Oh.” Shit. That sucks.
The Interstellar Confederation had a humanitarian resolution, signed by all the member planets, declaring that criminals on death row had the right to be executed by a religious leader in a manner in accordance with his or her spiritual beliefs. Therefore, Via seminary students received schooling in the use of lethal drugs. Adam had of
ten expressed his reluctance for that part of his future duties. At the same time, he believed that those about to die should be sent to the beyond by a trusted guide instead of a clinical stranger.
Adam fiddled with the napkin on his tray. His usually bright eyes clouded with gloom. “I wish they would do away with capital punishment altogether. Life and death shouldn’t be decided by people, no matter how wise or intelligent they are. They’re making us watch the execution of a drug dealer tomorrow. He was still on the run when the tribunal found him guilty and sentenced him. Didn’t even have a chance to speak for himself. I know it’s not uncommon for trials to go on without the suspect, but… I don’t like how Kydera handles its justice system. From trial to execution in a matter of days—seems heartless.”
What am I supposed to say? Jane picked up her cup and took a swig of her sugary, stimulant-laced drink. “At least it’s efficient. With all the fancy forensics tech out there, it’s always pretty clear what happened.”
Adam didn’t look up. “Nothing’s infallible. It doesn’t seem right that the sentencing is so absolute.”
Jane put her cup down. “Why? If a person does something knowing it could kill someone, he gives up his right to live.” She leaned down to peer into his face. “That drug dealer’s a murderer. What about the people who died because of his poison? They didn’t get to choose who sent them to the beyond.”
Adam sighed. “I know. But it won’t be easy, watching a life end, no matter what he did.”
He’d barely touched his food. Jane had never seen him in such a dark mood before. She scrambled to find another subject. “Hey, they invented a robot that can solve riddles.” She grinned. “Pretty amazing, right? If robots can solve riddles, they’d definitely replace me if it weren’t for the IC’s anti-AI rules. How much intelligence does it take to copy-paste-pull-data?”