Malcolm slid a little lower in his chair, but luckily a brunette woman several rows in front of him stood. “Hi. My name is Danielle. I, um…three weeks ago, the CEO of the company where I work was killed in a shuttle accident. Because he was wealthy and connected, he’d signed up for a regenesis policy the instant it became legal, and they woke him up in a new body last Monday. He was back at work by Wednesday. Anyway, I had a meeting with him on Thursday—normal work stuff, nothing special—and what I saw was really troubling. He acted strangely: abrupt, confused, forgetful. I mean, I know regenesis must be traumatic to experience, but his behavior was genuinely strange. And what I can’t forget most of all is his eyes. They looked…dead. As if there was no soul in his body. I’m going to start searching for a new job, because I don’t think I’m comfortable working for him any longer. He’s not the man he used to be.” She hurriedly sat down.
“Thank you, Danielle. Your story is a troubling one, indeed. Does anyone else want to speak?”
Across the room, a young man in a rumpled business suit stood. “I’m Scott Fer—”
“Last names aren’t necessary. We want everyone to feel at ease here.”
“Sorry. My father-in-law has been head of the family business for a hundred twenty years and counting. And my wife and I, we’re grateful. He built it up from nothing to a multi-million-credit business, and this has enabled us to live a comfortable life. But he’s a very controlling man, and not merely of the business. He uses his money to exert influence over every aspect of our lives.
“Anyway, he’s always had health issues. Half his organs are synthetic replacements at this point, and only rigorous gene therapy has kept him alive for the last thirty years. He’s been sick a lot this last year, and I thought—secretly, as I couldn’t say this to my wife—we were finally going to be rid of his overbearing presence soon. Finally free to make our own choices and live our own lives.
“Well, I just found out that he’s taken out a regenesis policy. When he does kick off, he’s going to get a brand new, healthy body free of the defects his real one suffered from. He’ll keep control of the business and the family for another five hundred or thousand years. Or longer! There’s no escape for us. And I don’t know what to do.”
Takanas did an excellent job of looking sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear of your troubles, Scott. One of the many problematic aspects of regenesis is how it will enable people to outlive their proper time, to hang on to the mortal coil like ghouls. And maybe that’s all they are. They’ll cling to their past, refusing to give the next generation the same chance to shine as they had.”
Takanas clasped his hands together and stepped out from behind the podium. “The Gardiens love life. Many of us are devout in our faith and are thankful for the special lives we have been gifted with. Whatever our personal beliefs, we all love humanity. But life is only precious, only special, if it has an end. We have nothing against medicine and technology and appreciate the many ways both have improved and extended our healthy lives. But death is and has always been the ultimate, final boundary. A threshold that can only be crossed once.
“Now, our politicians and leaders, goaded on by arrogant scientists, are claiming to have conquered death. But no one conquers death. Some of you may ask, ‘what about the Anadens?’ If the Anadens were ever akin to humans, they stopped being so hundreds of millennia ago. There can’t be a one of them who possesses a true soul. If you’ve met any Anadens in person, you know of what I speak.
“All right, then, what about Prevos? It’s our belief that Prevos are a venerable enhancement of life, both human and Artificial, and we mean them no ill will.
“We don’t mean anyone ill will, in fact. We simply want to protect our neighborhoods, our businesses, our families and our planets from being taken over by…I hesitate to use the pejoratives that are already catching fire out there, but words have meaning for a reason. Ghouls. Zombies. Golems. The Undead. You know, the rich and powerful control so much about our lives—like Scott’s father-in-law and Danielle’s boss. Now, the race is on for them to secure a false immortality so they never have to relinquish their power. And it’s not proper. It’s not humanity’s way.”
Takanas strolled deliberately across the front of the room, catching and briefly holding the gaze of various people in the audience. He was a good speaker.
“So what do we do about it? Right now, we’re asking for advocates. If you have any sway over people in positions of power, whether it be in politics, business, finance, culture or the military, make your voices heard. We can work to ensure the Assembly and the planetary governments pass the strictest regulations possible to limit the uses of regenesis. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.
“If our efforts in this area are unsuccessful, we’ll need to start discussing pursuing more serious measures. Now, I’m not talking about violence. Life is precious, and the last thing we want to do is cause unnecessary death. There are steps we can take that will have maximum impact with minimum loss of life. But you don’t need to worry about those just yet. Concentrate on spreading the word, on making it clear that we do not and will not accept regenesis. Not for our leaders, not for our soldiers, not for our families.
“If you’re interested in getting more involved on an organizational level, you can come up here and leave us your name and contact information, and we’ll be in touch. Our next meeting will be in two weeks. Thank you all for coming, and for standing up for your beliefs.”
The meeting started breaking up, and Malcolm joined a small group heading for the exit. When they reached the door, he stepped to the side to let one of the women depart ahead of him. As he did, his hand brushed across the wall beside the door, and he stuck a tiny, transparent and virtually undetectable surveillance device on the wall. It would record audio and low-res video of the room for the next hour and transmit the data to a receiver before dissolving into dust.
Then he slipped out the door and onto the street.
As revolutionary organizational meetings went, it was decidedly on the mild side. He instinctively agreed with much of what had been said and sympathized with much of the rest. The mood projected by the group’s leaders was upbeat, welcoming and friendly.
But this was what charismatic people did—created a vibe of camaraderie and shared purpose among those within the sound of their voice. Their true purpose, meanwhile, remained obscured behind what was often a false façade. And in this case, there were plenty of warning signs regarding the nature of that purpose.
He hoped those suspicions were unwarranted. Half of him wanted to turn around, go back inside and join the Gardiens in their crusade. But he didn’t do it, because all too often, this week’s platitudes were next week’s riots.
Vancouver
The meeting hadn’t lasted too long, so when Malcolm got home, he put off packing in favor of reviewing the recording the listener had captured. He sat on the couch and placed the receiver on the table in front of him. A grainy image of the conference room materialized, and for several minutes small groups chatted in clumps around the space.
He fast-forwarded until all the guests had departed. Three men, including the one who had recruited him, and a woman remained near the semi-circle of chairs at the front. The man who had chaired the meeting activated a small module on the podium, and a full-sized holo of an additional man appeared in front of them. The man sported dark brown hair, sharp features, a wiry frame and Prevo eyes. Actually, now that he noticed, everyone in the leadership group was now brandishing Prevo eyes. Curious.
Malcolm studied the holo more closely, for the man reminded him of someone…but after a minute he gave up trying to determine who it might be. The recording wasn’t of high enough quality for him to pin it down.
The man in the holo spoke first. “How did the meeting go?”
Takanas answered. “Well, sir. We doubled our attendance from last time, and we had some excellent newcomer testimony that fed nicely into people’s ingrained fears.”
/>
“You didn’t push too hard, did you? This is a delicate time in our growth.”
“No, sir. We stayed focused on the importance of positive, peaceful change effected by bringing others to the cause and spreading our message.”
“Good. Once people are fully committed, then we can push them toward where we want them.” The man directed an intense gaze at Malcolm’s handler—because that was clearly what Beaumont was. “Did our new recruit show?”
“He did. He kept to himself and didn’t speak, but he stayed for the whole meeting.”
“Interesting. Be careful with him.”
“But he could be a powerful asset for us.”
“If we manage him well and he falls to our side, yes. Otherwise, he could be a powerful enemy. I can trust you to manage him, Philippe, can’t I?”
“Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“See that you don’t.”
The recording ceased then. Crap!
Malcolm shut off the device and sank back against the couch cushion, dragging his hands down his face.
He’d known it was all wrong from the instant he’d walked into the conference room. Yet for a few minutes, it had been such a relief to find himself among people who harbored the same concerns he did about regenesis. For a few minutes, he’d allowed himself to feel stirred into righteous belief and even indignation. The speeches had stirred a fire in his belly, and he was disappointed to have to let it go.
But it was all a lie, and he’d known it. Complicated moral and ethical issues were never black and white, nor were they best decided by easily swayed crowds of distressed people.
He might not personally believe in regenesis, but he wasn’t a revolutionary…well, except for that one time. But whatever this simmering uprising was, it was certainly no Volnosti, and at the end of the day he’d do his duty and defend people’s right to choose to undergo regenesis.
The Gardiens obviously had much bigger designs than peaceful protests and government petitions. So now the question became, what were those designs?
29
* * *
ROMANE
Milky Way Galaxy
“You can set the boxes on the floor in the room right through this door. I’ll take it from here.”
The delivery man frowned over the top of the boxes stacked high on his cart. “We’re certified to hook everything up, if you want help with the installation.”
Mia smiled politely, though her eyes also flared in challenge. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t argue further, and she watched discreetly from her desk while he and two other men trolleyed in three large crates and multiple smaller ones, deposited them on the floor of the emptied-out equipment room and left with nary a squirrely glance her way.
Once they departed, she slipped off her jacket and draped it over her chair. This left her in a beige tank and caramel workpants that were sleek enough to pass for slacks so long as no one looked too closely. She needed to be dressed appropriately should government officials or local businesspeople stop by to see what the fuss was about, but she also needed to do the work of installing the scads of new equipment she’d ordered.
Qualifying the spaceport to accept non-human craft required an AEGIS-certified, dedicated, secure hardware node, along with a dozen secure network connections and specialty software to communicate with both AEGIS Immigration and the Concord Consulate. The level of bureaucracy made her want to give some politicians her choice opinion, but she knew enough about governments to recognize how it was far too late. There was no longer a single ‘someone,’ if there ever had been. Only a morass of unaccountable officials and enshrined-in-stone policies.
AEGIS was an important institution; more than that, it was a necessary one in a new universe packed with threats to humanity. But there was no question its governance had tamped down some of the IDCC’s wonderful entrepreneurial spirit.
But it wasn’t an insurmountable problem; she could maneuver through any labyrinth or obstacle course they threw at her. Whatever it took to bring aliens here to Romane and make them feel welcome once they arrived.
Mia pried the top off the first crate and peered inside to inspect the contents. In truth, the bureaucratic entanglements were for the best. The legal requirements had pushed her to assess the state of the server hardware at the spaceport, and she’d found it wanting in a bad way. So she’d scrapped the entire system to start over with new, next-gen equipment. For the last few nights, she and Meno had scripted a new central operating system to take advantage of the better equipment and the greater variety of patrons they would soon be seeing.
Because she still wasn’t getting a great deal of sleep. Since returning to Romane, the daytime hours had been packed with regulatory panels, design reviews, business meetings and construction planning. The nighttime ones were occupied with checking in on the world she’d left behind. She used Meno, the Noesis, sidespace and friendly contacts to keep tabs on the state of the Rasu War, relations with the Asterions, the Godjans’ well-being, and the nascent Anaden government, among other things.
Most of those other things involved Malcolm. Confirming he’d survived the battle at Ireltse, then checking to make sure he was surviving the world. Yes, fine. So she was having difficulty letting go of her former life.
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, slipping into sidespace before she’d even realized it. In two seconds her consciousness was at their—his?—townhouse in Vancouver. Her heart panged, for she missed it so. Missed the comfortable furniture, expansive kitchen and jaw-dropping view of Vancouver Harbor.
Her awareness wandered aimlessly through the rooms. She’d left more of her belongings there than she’d realized, and it selfishly warmed her heart to see that he hadn’t packed any of them away.
A noise down the hall drew her attention, and she drifted into the lavatory—
—and caught Malcolm in the shower. Oh, my. Other parts of her warmed now, and she—
Mia.
Her consciousness slammed back into her body with a jolt. What, Meno?
That was not appropriate behavior on your part.
Of course it wasn’t appropriate! She had no right to spy on him without his knowledge. It was worse than obsessive; it was creepy. But she hadn’t meant to do it and….
Ugh. What was the point of trying to build a life without him if all she did was think about him?
In fairness, this was an exaggeration. She didn’t only think about him. She spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the spaceport upgrades, the expo buildout, the partnerships she needed to cultivate and the people she needed to hire. But he was always drifting around in the narrow space between conscious thought and unconscious dreams.
Time to move on from those dangerous musings. She unloaded the first crate, situating the hardware on the floor near where it would be installed, then exhaled and looked around again. Wow, her mind was all over the place today.
We’ll finish this in a bit. I want to check on the construction progress.
I can tell you that—
No, I want to see it.
A quick skip through sidespace will show you everything you need to see.
With my own eyes, Meno. Sometimes there’s no substitute for the real thing. Also, she didn’t want to ‘accidentally’ drift back to Vancouver. Or shouldn’t, at any rate.
She took the lift to the roof of the spaceport, then strode to the railing at the edge. To the west, illuminated by the setting of Romane’s first sun, construction cranes were already placing new support beams across the cleared-out landscape. She’d bought out the leases of the businesses occupying the buildings with generous compensation, then had the structures demolished. Another fresh start for this endeavor.
She overlayed the architectural mockups of the expo upon the construction site, which today was a sea of dirt, drones, cranes and piles of metal, and in her mind’s eye she could see the finished work in all its shi
ning glory.
At this point, she was on the verge of being as cash-poor as she’d been when she’d fled from Pandora to Romane all those years ago with nothing but Caleb’s two thousand credits in her pocket. The capital investments needed for this project were mind-boggling, or would be for anyone who hadn’t played a central role in building Concord from the ground up. Even for her, they were daunting.
But it was going to be worth it. It had to be.
30
* * *
CONCORD HQ
CINT
Graham Delavasi shook Will’s hand, extending his other arm to pat the man on the back. “It is so good to see you. Did Richard tell you about the fishing lodge?”
Richard rolled his eyes, but Will chuckled warmly. “He did. I visited Lake Boscosa once when I was a child. I remember it being peaceful and beautiful.”
“Then visit it again soon. Please.”
“Absolutely. I promise you.” Will gestured to the conference table. “I’ve set up snacks and a drink bar in here. The panels embedded in the table provide touch access to the entire CINT database. Cliff is also on call for you.” He glanced over his shoulder wearing an amused smile. “Yes, Richard, I’ll alert you if anything requires your attention.”
Graham looked a tad disappointed. “You’re not going to stay and help us out?”
Richard shook his head. “Will is temporarily taking on even more of my duties than he usually does, so I can spend a few hours working on this case. I’m afraid CINT cannot afford both of our absences at once. Not with a war on.”
“In that case, I understand.” Graham wagged a finger. “Fishing, though. Soon.”
“Fishing.” Will waved an affirmation as he left, closing the door behind him.
All Our Tomorrows Page 17
