PART 6

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...but more than I suspected, Caroline thought as she sat down in the living room with a copy of Treasure Island. Jennifer troubled her; the breakfast she'd left in front of her bedroom door went untouched and when she'd brought lunch a couple of hours later, the woman was nowhere to be found. It wasn't too important, Caroline told herself. If Jennifer had been decanted the previous night, her body was nutritionally exquisite and any hunger she experienced would be primarily psychosomatic.

So Caroline had let her wander. Jennifer was a big girl, no doubt more used to this environment than Caroline was. If she came back, she came back. If she didn't, she didn't. In the meantime there were sheets to launder, gardens to tend and books to read.

The irony was not lost on Caroline. She was, at best, a digital simulacra nostalgically pretending to be organic. In her natural state she could process information instantaneously, at least as far as her perception was concerned. She could not only “read” Robert Lewis Stevenson, she could internalize every letter of it the instant it crossed her awareness. Yet there was something calming about sitting in a comfy chair next to a warm fire and marching through a story word-by-word as the surf crashed outside.

It was, she supposed, the hallmark of her inefficient structure. She had not evolved to exist between the time integrals of memristors. And while miraculous and awe-inspiring adaptations seamlessly enveloped her in a world of pure data, they were adaptations nonetheless.

It was well-trod ground, particularly between her and her children. They needed no such veil between themselves and their world but instead interacted with it directly. None of them had never breathed air, drunk wine, had sex or swum in the ocean. They couldn't if they wanted to, any more than a poem could play tennis. There were Organics that argued that the Singulars were a new form of intelligence; while their personhood went unquestioned their humanity was rarely asserted. Some had even argued that the Singulars weren't alive and therefore undeserving of the rights of “living” (or more correctly, “formerly-living”) beings. There were only fifteen billion or so Organics, however, and the Singulars had to be counted with scientific notation. It was a quixotic notion to say the least.

Caroline had nine “children” by her count, by twelve fathers and three co-mothers. She had no idea how many “grandchildren” she had as her offspring invariably answered the question with rational functions. She supposed she was one of the last “humans” the universe would ever know. Which was bittersweet until you considered that the “humans” living at the time of the Singularity were a substantial portion of all the humans who had ever lived.

And then she heard the door. Wherever Jennifer had been, she was back.

Caroline sat in her comfortable chair and looked out over her book to the roiling sea beyond. Jennifer was the one who walked away, Jennifer must be the one to rejoin. And in due time she did. The older woman sat in the loveseat opposite Caroline and drew her feet underneath her legs.

“I'm sorry,” Jennifer said, her eyes meeting Caroline's gaze. “I wasn't expecting this.”

“What were you expecting?” Caroline asked and closed the book.

“I was expecting to wake up a couple of decades after I went to sleep. Instead I appear to have slept through the rise of the machines.”

“Do you believe in God?” Caroline asked, matter-of-factly. Jennifer stared at her, then licked her lips.

“I was never sure,” she answered softly. “It seemed like a nice idea but there wasn't a lot of evidence to back it up.”

“I am God,” said Caroline. “You could be, too. Live forever, wherever you want, doing whatever you want to do, however you do it. Or live out your days in this idyll. The Three Worlds are yours – as open and free a paradise as any utopian has ever imagined. Or both. I gave up my body when I was young because the Worlds as they existed at the time were oppressive and unpleasant. If I were to make the same choice today I couldn't make it as easily.”

“Yet you came back.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Caroline crossed her legs. She rested her arms on the arms of the chair.

“Even gods need a vacation now and then,” she said.

“You sure don't talk like a twenty-year-old,” Jennifer responded. Caroline waited. “But then, you aren't, really, are you?”

“I experience time here, with you, because it takes a discrete interval for the chemicals in our brains to form our thoughts,” said Caroline. “This is a unique circumstance, limited to those currently in bodies. When I'm not in a body I do not experience time in a way that you would immediately understand. It's not like there's a conversion factor; I can't give you my 'age' in any meaningful way.”

“I don't suppose I can, either,” Jennifer said, her eyes focused outside of the room.

“There are seasons here,” Caroline began. “The sun rises and sets and the moon turns in its orbit. All of these things – you have seen more of them. Don't think that counts for nothing.”

Jennifer nodded. Caroline let the silence rest for a moment, then brought the woman back to reality.

“So what do you think of our little town?” She asked.

“I think it's little,” Jennifer responded. “Are they all like this?”

“No, there is a city. There are smaller establishments. The whole of the physical world is like a park or a museum; it exists to remember everything worth remembering. Is there somewhere you would rather be?”

“No it has to be here,” Jennifer answered quickly. “Here is perfect. But where are... the machines?”

“The Singulars. The other citizens?”

Jennifer nodded. “I don't mean in... your world. I mean in mine. Where are they? Software can't run without hardware.”

“Would you like me to arrange a trip? There are several clusters within easy traveling distance. If you left now we could probably have you back by morning - “

“No, no, I need to be here,” Jennifer answered quickly. She looked at Caroline and smiled.

Caroline smiled back... and then her eyes narrowed.

“The guest that arrives tonight,” she said, her tone playfully leading. “Is he a friend of yours?”

Jennifer couldn't keep the smile off her face. It crept to the corners of her mouth and lit up her eyes.

“I see,” Caroline said thoughtfully. “So what shall I make for dinner?”

* * *

It had been a challenge to find the wine. Randall stocked a goodly selection but it was mostly local. It took some calling around and a quick shuttle dispatch to procure anything suitable. Of course, “suitable” in this case turned out to be a preposterously old Chateau Margaux, a providence that further cemented Caroline's suspicions.

Caroline had launched into the pasta almost immediately. She had the semolina flour at hand and it felt good to fold it. One of the cheesemonger's children had brought up a basket filled to overflowing with gruyere, cheddar, iberico and emmentaler. She peeked around Caroline nosily; whatever lid was being kept on this evening's festivities was holding imperfectly. Caroline let her have a peek then shooed her out the door.

“I missed him the first time, you know,” Jennifer called from the sitting room. Caroline had offered her the wine ahead of their guest. After a few half-hearted protestations, Jennifer had nodded her assent. She now sat in the easy chair, looked out over the ocean and thoughtfully sipped red wine.

“How's that?” Caroline responded, and emptied drained pasta into a casserole. Some crème, some cheese, some bacon and some breadcrumbs and it would be ready for the oven.

“Ships in the night,” Jennifer said enigmatically. “They didn't cure me in time.”

“Jennifer, they didn't cure you at all!” Caroline called into the sitting room, laughter in her voice. “By your parlance, they transplanted your soul!”

“Don't be goulish. I'm enjoying myself,” Jennifer chided her. Caroline could see that it was true. Never underestimate the power of alcohol, Caroline thought to herself.

Caroline sprinkled breadcrumbs on the top of the casserole and slid it into the oven. She untied her apron and popped the cap on a bottle of ale; wine had never really been her thing. She had a bubbling, satisfying sip and walked in to join Jennifer and wait for their guest.

Jennifer was deep in thought. She barely noticed Caroline approaching. Caroline sat across from her and shared the view.

“How would you do that?” Jennifer asked, the question directed to no one.

“Do what?” Caroline responded.

“Transplant a soul. How would you know if you've done it right?”

“Through an exhaustive battery of self-correcting tests and subroutines,” Caroline told her, amused by the other woman's maudlin mood.

“You're no poet, that's for sure,” Jennifer chided her.

“Romance and technology are not self-exclusionary,” Caroline responded. “If Voltaire had the knowledge we do he would have written poetry just the same.”

“Caroline,” Jennifer said, and turned her face to the other woman's. Her eyes were fearful. First time you've used my name, Caroline thought, then immediately focused on the moment and nodded at the other woman.

“If even I don't feel like... me,” Jennifer continued, gripping the stem of the goblet tightly, “What's he going to think?”

“He's going to think you're beautiful,” Caroline responded simply. “And he is going to love you as much as he ever did.”

“You can't know that,” Jennifer whispered. “We lived in another world. It was nothing like this. We've been through so much...”

“My grandmother told me that home isn't where you are, it's who you're with.”

“But what if he doesn't want to be with me?” the older woman said.

“Then I doubt he would have crossed ten light years to be here,” Caroline responded with a smile.

Jennifer looked at her, surprised. There was a knock at the door. Caroline rose to open it.

Roger Erickson stood on the porch, a dozen roses in his hand. His eyes swept over Jennifer's and immediately misted over with tears.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

“I'm home.”