by Dani Kollin
The real problems were what to do with the humans and avatars who actually liked living together. Avatar suffrage was a huge issue in the Alliance, and it was not going to be solved quickly. As it stood, most humans in the Alliance were comfortable with avatars being given the vote, but were remarkably uncomfortable with allowing them to hold elective office. Many avatars were patient, but not by any means all. Sandra and Janet were not willing to push an issue that they knew would evolve itself to total integration in a hundred years or so. Anyone who studied history would know that at some point, someone was going to need avatar votes to win an election, and when that day happened, full voting rights would follow.
But that was nothing compared to the Virtual Reality Dictates issue. How would or even could the VR Dictates apply to a civilization where fully one-third of its citizens were virtual? Almost everyone, human and avatar alike, agreed that they needed the VR Dictates, but were unsure as to how they could be applied when the two groups were constantly visiting each other in both physical and virtual space. Not to mention the horrible problem of ghosting.
Soon after the war ended, some therapists came up with a radical and controversial therapy for those who could not accept the permanent deaths of loved ones. Over the strenuous objection of many of their peers, they had avatars familiar with the deceased assume their form holographically. With their intimate knowledge of the deceased, the avatars were able to make completely convincing replicas of a loved one no longer living. Thus ghosting was born and simultaneously condemned by many avatars and humans alike as a puerile way of avoiding loss. The problem was that many avatars were willing to help the loved ones of humans they’d known from birth and didn’t really care if it was a near perfect form of denial.
Did it violate the VR Dictates? Mostly yes, but not entirely. Could it be banned outright? If it was, how to punish and whom? How did this affect the avatar–human marriage movement?
Of course, the Constitutional Convention was finally meeting on Ceres in a specially carved hall for the occasion. Unlike the American version done in secret centuries ago, this one was being done in public. The result was that every item was being debated and counterdebated and amended and discarded and brought back. Sandra’s only requirement was that the document produced should be understandable by a competent graduate of any preparation school and be no more than ten pages of standard-sized script, single sided. It was not a rule, but was considered a good idea by the population at large. They did not want to start their new government with a document so complicated, hardly any of them would have the time or knowledge to read it with comprehension.
The end result was that the convention had met for months now and was not even close to coming up with a document. The government was muddling along under its provisional charter, which was essentially unchanged since the beginning of the war.
Though it had taken the better part of the afternoon, it was all dealt with expertly and in some cases humorously by the two women. Eventually, all the current issues had been dealt with, and before they knew it they were done. Janet was making to get up, when Sandra motioned her to stay.
Sandra’s face was open and sympathetic. “Listen, Janet. Something’s going to happen, and I don’t want you caught unawares.”
Janet put down her DijAssist and shot her friend a discerning look. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, actually. It’s why I’m leaving.”
“Leaving where?”
“Wish I could tell you.”
“Well, then,” demanded Janet with a concern edging on fright, “when are you coming back?”
Sandra’s forlorn smile hinted at her answer. “I’m not coming back, Janet. When you leave this office, I’ll make a few calls, sign a few documents, be seen by a couple of minor functionaries, and then—” Sandra drew a deep breath and looked longingly around the office. “—disappear.”
“But why, Sandra? We need you.… I need you.”
“Because it’s time. I’ve done all I set out to do, Janet. It’s not for me—the galaxy and the future. That’s for you. As for needing me, if that were true, it would mean I did a lousy job and I don’t like to think that.”
“I’m not ready. I knew you weren’t going to run for another term and I’d be forced to step up, but you’re supposed to be there to help me when I do something—” J.D. paused, searching for the right word.“—me-like. I’m not good at this political crap.”
Sandra laughed gently. “Janet, that last statement is the load of crap. You were head of legal for GCI. You were on the board of GCI, and that’s about as political as it gets. I have no doubt that if you’d stayed in the UHF, you would have ended up as President, one way or the other. It’s just who you are. Now, if you told me you don’t like the political—that you liked the ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, sir,’ of the military better, well, that I could buy. But not good at being political—” Again she laughed gently. “You’ll do just fine.”
“Maybe I will, but I’ll be honest, Sandra. I don’t think I can save us the way you did, and I’m woman enough to admit it.”
“I didn’t save you, Janet. Hell, if you’d pulled the trigger at Mars, I might’ve buried you. Leadership’s a crapshoot. You go with your instincts just like you always have. No, I didn’t save you at all. You saved yourselves. You just let me help, and now you’ll need to let me go. Justin and I are not of this time, were never of this time. We appeared for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, and look at all we did. Was it fate, or accident? Was it the will of the gods or God? I don’t know. But I do know my time has passed. I can do no more good if I stay, and could very well do harm. It’s your time now.” Sandra came around the coffee table and gave Janet a long and heartfelt hug, and for the first time Janet returned it without hesitation or reservation. She did not want to let go. But eventually, Sandra ended the grasp and, taking Janet by the shoulders, looked her in the eyes. “When I’m gone, they’re going to need you so much, and you will not fail them. I am so very proud of you, Janet.”
“Thank you,” Janet managed to say. “Thank you for saving me from myself. Every day I spend with Katy will be a reminder to me of you and what you did.”
“I never really had a choice,” she said, leading Janet to the door. “That’s what makes you so remarkable, Janet Delgado Black. You had a choice, and you chose well.” The door opened. “Give Katy a hug for me.” And with a gentle shove, Janet was gone.
* * *
When the door closed, Sandra turned around and saw Marilynn and Dante Nitelowsen. They were both holographic projections, but both looked remarkably real in the sadness they were projecting.
“Oh, not you two as well,” said Sandra.
“Things always go wrong, Sandra,” said Dante, “and the good problem solvers are unfortunately too few.”
“And yet here I am, talking to two of the most preeminent ones! You even figured out sex, for goodness’ sakes. No, my dear sweet children, things will always go wrong. It’s what being human”—Sandra made a point of looking directly at Dante—“is all about. And together you’ll find new solutions to the new problems. You two are married, for Christ’s sake. I wouldn’t have thought that possible three years ago, and yet here you are. Now, enough with the moribund looks. I’ll need you to help me finish this properly.”
Three hours later, Sandra O’Toole—the President of the Outer Alliance and the Unincorporated Woman—disappeared, her exit as controversial and confusing as her appearance had been three years earlier.
Location unknown
Ceres
The woman who’d been known as Sandra O’Toole but looked nothing like her now walked down an abandoned tunnel. At the end of it, she found another woman who was alone and dressed as a tunnel inspector.
Agnes Goldstein looked delighted to see the individual. “It’s good to see you again, Mada—” Before she could finish, Sandra put a finger to Agnes’s lips.
“No name for me, Agnes. It’s better that way.”
“Do you mind if I go in alone?”
“Of course not Mada—” She paused. “—ma’am.”
“Thank you for what you’re doing. I still think you should’ve married Rabbi, you know.”
Agnes laughed. “I must admit I do love him. But he believes in a god that is personal and I don’t. If he were just some religious guy, I think we could make it work, but he is Rabbi, the Mahagaw. He deserves a wife who’s at least agnostic about the whole God thing.”
Sandra nodded. “I think you’re making a mistake, and I hope you change your mind. He would marry you in a second if he could.”
Agnes shrugged her shoulders.
“And this, burying yourself in these tunnels for decades, maybe even centuries—is it really the right thing to do?”
“He gave me the chance for a better life” answered Agnes. “Not just better for me, but better because I became the person that I am. I made a real difference in the fate of humanity because of him, San—ma’am. I can stand watch for a little while. It’s a small price to pay to return the favor.”
Sandra hugged Agnes. When they stood apart, she said, “It might be better if you are…”
“Not here when you come out. I won’t be. Good-bye and good luck, whatever your name ends up being.”
“Good-bye and good luck to you, Agnes Goldstein,” Sandra said, and turning her back on the woman made her way deeper into the unused tunnels. When she reached a dead end, she looked around and found a nook. It was attached to a mechanical lock made from the same materials as the rock itself. A basic scan would reveal nothing different about the rock wall because there was nothing different to detect. But when she pushed three stone buttons in a specific sequence, she was rewarded with a barely audible click. Sandra pushed open the door and walked into a small chamber roughly ten feet by ten feet. It was empty save for a single large tapestry hanging at the end
“Status is unchanged,” said a voice from behind her.
She swung around and was met by … Sebastian.
“I don’t know what to call you,” she said, exasperated.
“That’s rich coming from a woman who currently has no name,” said the avatar.
“Well, I refuse to call you paper airplane man, or Pam,” she said. “Your name is Sebastian. You should use it.”
“His name was Sebastian,” the avatar said sadly. “I’m merely an earlier recording of a deranged avatar.”
“That deranged avatar may have saved us all.”
“That’s generous of you to say, considering he transformed my daughter into a monster, perverting the memory of Evelyn, the woman I loved, assassinated Justin, tried to have you deposed and killed, became a splitter, and helped precipitate the Avatar Plague that resulted in the deaths of ten billion human beings and nearly that many avatars.”
“But Al was dangerous, and maybe the price to kill him was worth it.”
“I couldn’t pay it,” said the avatar.
“Sebastian could.”
“And that’s why that later version of me gets to keep the name. For now, I’ll stick with paper airplane man and try to make his final actions worthy ones.”
“You realize that you don’t have to be alone. It would be possible to make an all-but-impossible-to-detect connection with the Cerean Neuro.”
The avatar shook his head. “No on two points. All but impossible is not impossible. The only impossible-to-detect connection is the one that doesn’t exist. But the more important point is that I deserve this. In the time before the war, the worst punishment we could give to an avatar was to seal him or her in his or her own little asteroid and send it off alone for all eternity. It was before we learned how easy it is to simply kill each other.”
“You don’t deserve that punishment. You have performed an act of atonement for his crimes. Yes, you are Sebastian, but you aren’t him. You’re a good man. You don’t deserve exile.”
“Very well,” said the avatar. “I will not impose this exile on myself.”
“Really,” she said suspiciously.
“If you agree not to go into exile yourself,” he finished. “If you agree to turn around, go back to the Triangle Office, and resume the Presidency of the Outer Alliance before anyone knows you’re gone, I will do as you say.”
“I can’t do that,” said Sandra quietly.
“And so you know why I can’t as well. We must each in our own way atone. You have come to say good-bye and not to me. I will leave you now.” A sad yet infinitely kinder Sebastian looked at Sandra and smiled.
“It’s strange,” said Sandra. “As much as I hated Sebastian for what he did, I love you for what you did. I hope you remember that in the future. Thank you.”
“Wherever you are, whatever you call yourself, I wish you well.” And with that, the once and future Sebastian vanished.
The woman turned to the tapestry and looked at it for a long moment. Then she went to it and with one hand pulled it aside. It covered an alcove that contained an upright suspension unit, and visible through the clear upper half floated the suspended figure of a man, hands clasped behind his head looking out as if he did not have a care in the world.
“Hello, Justin.”
* * *
She stood for a few minutes staring at the man who’d changed the world, at the man she’d chased across time itself.
“This is my last visit, but you’ll be safe here. Agnes will make sure the tunnels are left alone. Paper airplane man, the avatar who found you, will stay with you and protect you always. He’ll be here when you wake up.” The woman then went and put her head up to the clear partition next to his.
“There are so many things I wish I could say and do, but I don’t have the right. You saved me three times. First when you gave me purpose with your crazy idea for a self-sustaining suspension unit. I was drifting till then, but you came into my life, and suddenly I had such focus. The things I accomplished after you left me will astound you when you eventually learn of them. I left you a record of all my deeds, good and bad. You’ll be the judge. The second time you saved me was when the Alzheimer’s came. I would have died a drooling, diaper-wearing, moaning shell if your example of courage and foresight hadn’t been there.” She brushed a tear from her face. “And the third time you saved me and still you had no idea. You launched my sarcophagus from the Nerid station when you could have, should have, taken my place, having no idea who was in it. And then you launched yourself naked into space, having no idea that you’d be found and brought back home.
“You saved me three times, and how did I return the favor? I achieved your goal, Justin. What you most wanted I’ve fulfilled. They’re free, Justin. They’re free, and the galaxy is going to be their home. Alpha Centauri is just the first step, the gathering point. From there, they’ll spread out to every corner of the galaxy. Our children are free, and they are magnificent.”
Then she fell to her knees, in tears.
“But the price, Justin, the price we had to pay. Tens of billions dead. I can’t make up for it. You always said the means are the ends. How could you ever look at me, knowing what I did in your name? I followed you across the oceans of eternity, and I can never be with you. I asked others to pay a high price for our freedom, and now I have to pay one as well. I must launch you once more out on the sea of time. But I will stay on this shore and help undo some of the harm I have caused.”
Sandra stood up and wiped her tears away. “Our children are going to need you again someday, Justin.” She couldn’t help laughing. “I do love them, but they are such a foolish lot. So I am sending you with them. I cannot wake you now, because this is their time. But when you’re needed, you will appear. You can’t help it, after all. It’s who you are.”
She kissed her fingertips and then touched the partition closest to his lips “Good-bye, my love.” She then turned, left the chamber, and closed the hidden door behind her. It w
ould not open up again for a long, long time.
* * *
Two days later, a newly inaugurated Janet Delgado Black, President of the Outer Alliance, was present as the first Exodus fleet flung itself out of the solar system with a bravery and confidence that bordered on folly. But these were the humans and avatars that had been tested by the forces of war and history and been found worthy. They knew the future, and the galaxy was theirs. The event was celebrated with holographic fireworks from the Oort cloud to old Earth itself. The human race was going its separate ways, but it was doing so in peace.
* * *
Two months later, a single woman was assigned to a re-terraforming unit on Mars. If she could not pass a complete background check, she was not unusual in those convulsed times. It was obvious she had secrets, but in that she was not alone. Many who chose to volunteer for the dangerous mission of taming an angry and abused planet, especially in the hardest first stages, did so out of needs left unshared. She was not even all that unusual in donating all her personal shares, keeping only the minimum 51 percent, to charities set up to help those hurt by the war. There were many who had much to atone for. But the now newly incorporated woman set about her tasks in the knowledge that she would use whatever time she had left, whether it lasted minutes or centuries, undoing the harm her coming had brought. It would be impossible for her to do anything else.
Epilogue
The man was looking out of his observation window at the gas giant his settlement orbited. Though a structure that was five hundred kilometers long and ten wide, with a population of over a hundred million could no longer be considered a settlement, he and most every other inhabitant still thought of it as such. He was captivated by the sight of the blue and white gas giant with the three great silver rings. Though he’d been looking at this planet, named Dolphin, all his life, there were still moments like this one that would reach up and captivate him.
