Post-Human Trilogy

by Simpson, David

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author.

  PART 1

  Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. —Arthur C. Clarke

  1

  WAKING UP was not something one had to work very hard to accomplish these days; like most things, it was done for you. The nanobots, also known as nans, were set to awaken their host at whatever time he or she desired. They would always, however, awaken their host just before the end of the most recent REM sleep so that the host would arise alert and feeling well rested. It was usually easy to remember one’s dreams, too, and recounting dreams to friends, loved ones, and co-workers had become a universal pre-noon activity; after noon was a different story, as by that point, it was considered a faux pas to continue discussing a dream—best just to let it go and focus on the real world. Sleep was hardly “death’s counterfeit” any longer, as Shakespeare had suggested, but rather, an important source of entertainment. Early-morning remembrances of fantastic dreams, in addition to one’s high level of alertness, made it difficult to wake up feeling anything other than optimistic—difficult, but not impossible.

  James Keats opened his eyes and sat up in bed. He turned to his right, looked out his window, and saw that the sun had risen, yet the summer sky was blotted out by low-hanging gray clouds hovering like a dull blanket just above the skyline of the city. He turned to his left and saw his wife Katherine, still fast asleep. She wouldn’t awaken for another hour, just after he would’ve already left for work. She could’ve set herself to wake up with him. This was her plan—deafening silence. He wondered when his punishment would end, but part of him knew it never would. Their love was over.

  James turned from her and sighed as he lifted the heated blanket from his legs and stepped out onto the heated carpet of his bedroom. Just a few short steps away were his bathroom and the promise of his morning shower. He opened his mind’s eye and selected a soft spray at a comfortable forty-five degrees Celsius. When he stepped into the shower, the spray hit him from four directions, and he relaxed against the kneading fingers of the water.

  People in the industrialized world had been enjoying their morning showers for two centuries now, though there were more efficient ways of cleaning oneself; on Mars, James had used a microwave shower that detected foreign substances in a matter of a few seconds and removed them from the body. The process of removing dirt and oil was over just as quickly as it began, but James hated it. The technology had been available for years, but it had never caught on with the general population. A traditional shower was a luxury too valuable to give up. Even if it took a few extra minutes in the morning, the hot water and massaging jets were like an old friend to humanity.

  People were funny that way—the way they would resist the future and cling to the past. It was like how the concept of a god had never left the species. Very few people alive believed in a god—there was no longer a need to—yet the phrases, “oh my God” or “dear God,” were still commonly used. It was as if people needed those phrases, those concepts from the past, to help them understand the future.

  As James shampooed his hair, he reactivated his mind’s eye and checked his phone messages; there were none. He quickly checked his e-mail, but there was nothing interesting. His older brother had sent him some pornographic holoprograms to keep him company, but he didn’t open them—maybe later. At the moment, he wasn’t in the mood. He set the shower to end in five seconds and selected a towel-off of forty degrees Celsius, to begin the moment the shower stopped.

  As warm air replaced the water, blowing through the vents and quickly drying him, his thoughts drifted back to Katherine. Why wouldn’t she listen? He’d done nothing wrong—at least, nothing physically wrong.

  It’s what you wanted to do that hurts me, James, she said.

  But I can’t control what I want to do—I can only control what I actually do, he told her.

  And we both know why you didn’t ‘actually’ do anything, don’t we? Don’t we?

  She had a point.

  After he finished in the shower, James dressed quickly in his standard-issue black uniform. He pulled on the t-shirt and flight pants, then slipped into his flight jacket with the NASA emblem emblazoned on the right shoulder. He walked out of the bedroom, casting one last look at the back of his wife’s head, her blonde hair the only evidence of an actual person in the room with him.

  He floated down to the first floor gently and hovered into the kitchen, making a soft landing on the linoleum floor. He opened his mind’s eye once again and activated his food replicator. From the breakfast menu, he selected a poached egg on a bagel, served hot, and a large orange juice, served cold. The food was ready in an instant, and he gulped down his orange juice, deciding to eat the bagel on the way.

  He slipped on his flight boots and selected the door open icon in his mind’s eye. Then he stepped on his front lawn and gazed across the water at the downtown core of Vancouver. It was rush hour, and thousands of bodies buzzed above the city. On a good day, he would look at that sight and think of honeybees working on the comb. Today, however, the sight reminded him of flies buzzing around a pile of excrement or a rotting corpse. The sky was brown above the massive skyscrapers and all across the horizon, as though a painter had soiled his thumb and rubbed it across the expanse of what could have been a masterpiece.

  James took two quick bites of his bagel and placed the rest in the pocket of his jacket. He pulled on his helmet and looked skyward as he lifted off from his lawn and slowly approached the low-hanging clouds. He liked to take a moment or two before activating his magnetic field. He enjoyed the way the wind felt as he picked up speed on his ascent. As he entered the clouds and began to feel the temperature dropping, he activated the protective field; it produced a greenish light that encapsulated his body. Once the magnetic field was in place, he was free to bolt upward, unhindered by friction, air pressure, temperature, or anything else. In seconds, he was above the stratosphere, using his mind’s eye to plot an automatic course for Venus.

  The trip there usually took just under an hour—still one of the longest daily commutes of anyone in the solar system. People regularly commuted between hemispheres on Earth, and some even commuted between the Earth and the moon, but very few commuted interplanetarily. After plotting his course, he bolted forward once again, this time at an even faster rate than before.

  As he passed by the moon and breathed the compressed air released by his flight suit, he surfed the Net, as was his customary commuting routine. First, he would check sports. The Vancouver Canucks had lost to an expansion team on Mars; the players blamed the difference in gravity and promised a better performance back on Earth. “Damn. Lost that bet,” James cursed to himself.

  Next, he checked the mainstream news. NBC was interviewing James’s boss, Inua Colbe, executive assistant to the president of A.I. governance. The interviewer was sitting across from Colbe, dangling her pointed dress shoe from her foot and smiling as she asked him questions in front of a welcoming fireplace.

  “There have been a lot of questions about the delay between upgrades, Dr. Colbe. Can you tell us why it has taken over five years for this latest upgrade to be approved?”

  Colbe smiled as he answered. The camera closed in on his smiling face; his pearly white teeth could distract anyone from what was being said, putting them at ease. “The simple fact is that this upgrade is far better than any that have been uploaded in the past. It offers more disease resistance, an increase in muscle tone, and improvements to the cardiovascular system that should increase energy. Then, of course, there is the benefit everyone is talking about.”

 
; “The IQ increase,” the interviewer stated, finishing Inua’s thought.

  “That’s right. An increase in neuron growth, specifically targeting spindle cells, which we are forecasting will lead to an eight-point jump in IQ for the average citizen—the biggest jump in history.”

  IQ measurements were based on the numbers from before the nans had first started slowly improving the population’s intelligence. An IQ of 100 was no longer the average IQ of a population, since almost everyone alive was now at the same level. There were only a few people who were naturally above the standard level—James was one of them.

  “I think people are very much looking forward to the IQ portion of the download. I know that I certainly am.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Colbe interjected.

  “But why not increase the IQ slowly? We’ve been used to annual improvements of a point or two. Why was there a five-year gap followed suddenly by this huge leap forward?”

  Colbe smiled again, this time nodding to show that he understood the concerns of the general public.

  He’s a great PR man, thought James, because he’s a phony bastard.

  “Well, Keiko, what people have to understand is that as the IQ of the general public increases, it becomes more and more difficult to provide upgrades—not impossible, mind you, but more difficult. In the early days, it was very easy to find countless bright subjects to study so that we could learn a great deal about what structures in their brains facilitated their intelligence. However, once we started getting into the numbers we are entering now, where the IQ of the general public is 149 and about to reach 157, the number of subjects who are naturally this intelligent—those on whom we can model the upgrades—diminishes significantly. Unlike previous upgrades, this particular one isn’t based on a large number of people. Rather, it is actually based on one person, a man named James Keats who is the commander of the terraforming project on Venus, and who happens to have an IQ above 200.”

  James opened his mouth in shock. “He screwed me. He...screwed me.”

  “My goodness! An IQ above 200 naturally! That’s astounding!”

  “He’s an astounding individual, Keiko. He’s only thirty-six years old and is commanding a team of scientists, some of whom are three times his age, on one of the most important projects of our time. He played an integral part in the terraforming of Mars, and he was the only real candidate for the job on Venus. In addition, he was generous enough to offer scans of his brain to the A.I. so this latest upgrade could be modeled on him. He’s a great citizen.”

  James blinked, still shocked to be listening to Colbe talk about him during a live broadcast. “That asshole,” he said out loud before using his mind’s eye to dial Colbe’s phone. Obviously Colbe wouldn’t answer as he was busy being Judas, so James waited for Colbe’s answering message to appear. An old message popped up; it was probably recorded several years ago, judging by the passé clothes Colbe was wearing. He looked the same, as the nans had kept him young; if anything, he looked a little better now.

  When the image on Inua’s machine stopped speaking and the beep indicated that James was free to leave his message, he spoke in as cordial a tone as he could muster, but he was pissed. “Inua, I am watching you tell the populated solar system that their new brains are going to be modeled after mine. I thought we had a deal, Inua. I thought you said I would be anonymous. I don’t want reporters asking me questions. I don’t want everyone in the solar system looking at me like I’m related to them. Was I not clear about this?”

  With that, he terminated the message and stopped the broadcast. He thought of surfing the Net some more to take his mind off of his irritation, but he decided not to. Instead, he would work. He opened the file containing the computer model of that day’s experiment. He ran it through from beginning to end, but couldn’t pay attention to it; he was too preoccupied with trying to convince himself not to be angry. There’s no reason to be this upset, he told himself, but yet there it was. Why was he so angry? Why didn’t he want people to know about him? What was it about the upgrade that was upsetting him so much? Why was he afraid of connection?

  2

  With a 600-degree Celsius surface, Venus might have been hell, but James wouldn’t have had it any other way. His favorite part of the day was his approach to the planet and subsequent descent into the atmosphere.

  It was roughly the same size as Earth, with only a few hundred kilometers separating them in diameter, but that was one of the few similarities it shared with its sister planet. Its atmosphere consisted almost entirely of carbon dioxide, and the resulting greenhouse effect made it the hottest planet in the solar system. The deadly heat made the existence of water on the planet impossible, but there was rain—a deadly sulfuric acid that combined with the heat to make Venus as inhospitable a place as any in the solar system—just the sort of challenge on which James thrived.

  Once he reached the Venusian stratosphere, James set a course for the research lab on the surface. He smiled as he entered the thick, dark clouds and blasted through the acid and heat.

  On the surface, in the research lab that was not so affectionately referred to as “The Oven” by the workers who inhabited it, Thel Cleland looked up from her work on the magnetic propeller and watched a tiny blue dot in her mind’s eye—the dot that signified the approach of Commander Keats. She had taken it upon herself to be there to personally greet him when he arrived that morning, so she’d been watching for him for the last ten minutes. “Look sharp, everybody. The boss is coming!” she announced to her two fellow workers as they prepared for the morning’s experiment.

  “The boss?” replied Djanet Dove, smiling to herself.

  Rich Borges smiled too.

  It was difficult to think of Commander Keats as a “boss.” He was young, friendly, caring, and a pleasure to work with.

  Thel stood and floated gently up toward the airlock. She was a tall, slender, dark-haired woman with a strong, athletic build. There was a certain unmistakable self-confidence in her every move, every gesture, every stance. At fifty, she felt she finally knew how to live; she’d earned her self-assurance. Of course, as with everyone else, the nans had kept her young—biologically, she was twenty-nine, and men of all ages pursued her relentlessly. She knew what she was looking for, though. She knew exactly what she was looking for.

  The greenish glow of James’s magnetic field was visible for an instant before he emerged from the cloud cover. Weather moved slowly on Venus—there was rarely anything to obscure one’s view on the surface, and Thel was able to watch Commander Keats—James—completely unobscured as he approached the outer magnetic doors. Once inside, he disengaged his magnetic field and opened the airlock door.

  Thel floated before him, smiling as he removed his helmet. She laughed and covered her mouth.

  “What?” James asked, surprised.

  Thel reached out and wiped the corner of his lip with the tip of her finger. “You’ve got egg on your face this morning, Commander.”

  “Oh...thanks,” he said, his face coloring.

  “No problem, Commander.”

  James struggled to look into her eyes; it was difficult to look at her—she seemed able to look right through him, right into his soul. Did she know what he was thinking?

  But I can’t control what I want to do—I can only control what I actually do.

  He turned away for a moment and noticed Rich and Djanet watching—not working—watching. “Uh...preparations are going okay, I hope?”

  Thel noticed the changed look on James’s face and turned to see her coworkers as they sneaked quick glances upward, trying to look as though they weren’t looking. Her smile broadened. “Just fine, Commander. We’ll be ready.”

  “Good, good. I...uh...I better go get ready.” James began to float across the lab towards the second-story doorway to his office but stopped when he noticed another greenish light emerging from the clouds. “Hey...it’s Old-timer!”

  Old-timer, formerly known as Craig
Emilson, arrived on the exact same trajectory as James had a minute earlier. He was dressed in an identical flight suit, as all the researchers were, and only his extra ten centimeters in height prevented dizzying déjà vu. After Old-timer entered the airlock and slipped off his helmet, he smiled at Thel, kissed her on the cheek, and vigorously shook hands with James. “Hey, good buddy!” Old-timer said, offering his usual, very familiar greeting.

  “Good morning, pal!” replied James.

  Old-timer had the polar opposite effect on James that Thel did; somehow, he put the younger man at ease. He was self-assured, just as Thel was, but there was something different.

  “Too bad about those Canucks of yours, eh, Jimmy?”

  “I’m impressed, Old-timer. It took you all of four seconds to bring that up.”

  “Well, I’m not one for beating around the bush, especially when it comes to collecting on a wager. You owe me.”

  “I know, I know. I didn’t forget.”

  “What did you bet?” Thel inquired.

  Old-timer and James exchanged glances.

  “Would you like to tell her, or shall I?” asked Old-timer.

  “I wouldn’t dare deprive you of your chance to gloat. The honor is yours.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Old-timer responded, performing an exaggerated bow. “Commander Keats has agreed to join me this evening for...are you ready, Thel?”

  “What is it?”

  “For a beer!”

  Thel gasped in mock astonishment. “I can’t believe it! You got him to agree to have a drink! I’ve been trying to get him to have a drink with me for three years!”

  “Well, we can thank a certain Martian expansion hockey team for this miracle!”