James did not respond.
“That’s right. 210. The people will have reached your level.”
“Based on my model?”
“Based on your model. You. The man who knows fame is a sham. Do you think the general public will care about you then, once you’re just like them?”
For the first time in his life, James felt the need to throw up.
“You’re going to live forever, James. Up against forever, ten years of fame won’t seem like much.”
“No. No it won’t.”
“There. You see?” Inua was smiling now. “Even with that big soppy brain of yours, old Inua can still teach you a thing or two. Now try to relax, my friend, and try enjoy the notoriety, okay? And let’s make sure we get together for some golf soon—maybe next week, once people are used to the new upgrade and the PR tour is over. What do you say?”
“I-I hate golf. I’ll take you to a hockey game.”
Inua laughed—it was hollow—a salesman’s laugh. “Okay, old friend. Okay. Goodbye.”
The connection was severed. James swiveled his chair around and faced the glass wall behind his desk. Outside was dark, hot hell.
3
James glided out of his office and toward the central dome of the lab. There, the other four members of the research team were sitting together near the base of the MP—the four-story tall magnetic propeller that stood in the middle of the lab. It was about twice as thick as the coast redwood trees near his house in Vancouver and built primarily of titanium. Old-timer had taken to calling it Zeus and the name was appropriate; it was worthy of the gods. James activated his mind’s eye and quickly saw that the rest of the team was already signed in and were ready to begin monitoring the test run.
“Feeling lucky, Commander?” Rich called up from his seat next to the other researchers.
“Who needs luck when you have math?” James replied, jokingly.
“Who needs luck when we have you?” said Thel.
James smiled.
So many things seemed to be wrong in his life. He wasn’t sure exactly what they were—there was just a feeling—like something was slipping away. It wore on him.
Zeus sustained him. These moments made him happy. To accomplish something—something amazing—that sustained him.
His life had not been like other people’s. In a time when infants were born into the world with every genetic advantage known to science, James was exceptional. No one had isolated the genes that could create someone like him—at least not yet.
At the age of six, he designed his first robot. At the age of seven, he designed one that could translate French into English. By the time he was ten, he had programmed it to learn other languages and it became the first speaking universal translator on Earth. The robot was confiscated by the A.I. Governing Council later that year—only one A.I. was allowed to function on Earth—but the Council took note of its young designer, and were quick to put him to work.
James was offered a position in any government field he desired, and he chose terraforming. At that time, the terraforming of the moon was well underway, but a Martian project seemed decades, if not centuries, down the road. James changed all that when he invented the SRS—the Self-Replicating System. He designed dense programs for robots that would blast off to another planet and reproduce. “Adam” was sent to Mars when James was only fourteen. By the time James was sixteen, Adam had used the available resources on the planet to reproduce 100 times. The resulting work force built a research lab that was ready for human inhabitants the following year. James began commuting to Mars soon thereafter and, only five years later, Mars had been terraformed. Now, fifteen years after the terraforming was complete, Mars had its own city—its own hockey team—and the bastards had beaten the Canucks.
Venus was a whole other matter—a planet that could be the jewel of the solar system if only its harsh atmosphere could be removed. The scientists on the Governing Council had their hopes set on a plan that had been designed almost half a century earlier. They wanted to use nuclear detonations to knock the Hektor asteroid into Venus, the theory being that the resulting explosion would destroy the carbon dioxide atmosphere. Then the crackpots wanted to attach a gigantic rocket onto Jupiter’s moon, IO, and send it on a quarter-century long trip to Venus, where it would act as a sunshield and allow for the cooling of the planet. The whole process would take a century.
James’s success on Mars killed their plan, making it look needlessly elaborate in comparison. Now the pressure was on him to prove that his Venus idea could succeed as well, delivering results that were faster and better than those proposed by the Governing Council’s top minds. The first step was to send an SRS to the planet—it built the lab and the Zeus. The Zeus functioned on the same principles as the magnetic implants in everyone’s spinal cords; these implants created a magnetic propulsion and generated the protective fields that allowed people to fly—even through space. The Zeus would generate this same magnetic energy but would spin it like a propeller, creating a massive fan, thus forcing the atmosphere of Venus into space. The Zeus James would activate that day was just a prototype—a baby. If it functioned properly, James would signal the go-ahead to the SRS robots still on the surface to build another Zeus—one two kilometers high and the width of a football field, with the capability of removing the Venusian atmosphere in a matter of months.
It just needed to work today.
“Whenever you’re ready, James,” Old-timer said, smiling up at his young friend.
James was still floating about a dozen feet above the floor of the lab. “Okay. This is it. Keep your eyes on those meters. The numbers have to line up exactly as they do in the simulation. If you see anything amiss, you have permission to engage shut down. Everybody copy?”
“Aye, Aye, Cap’n,” replied Rich. The others likewise assented, albeit without Rich’s unnecessary seafaring pirate accent.
“Okay then. Let’s do it.”
The Zeus began to spin. It moved without noise, floating on magnetic energy. It quickly began to pick up steam. Before long, the movement caused the air in the lab to circulate into a breeze.
“Mmm…feels kind of nice,” Rich commented.
“Concentrate, guys,” James said, still looking straight up through the tinted roof of the dome.
The clouds were clearly starting to swirl. It was a magnificent sight. The clouds moved so slowly on Venus—to see them swirl as though a prairie summer storm were about to break sent chills down James’s spine.
“The momentum is right on track, boss,” Old-timer reported. “It’s exactly to the computer model—to the decimal point.”
“It has to be. I don’t want to take any—”
Suddenly, there was a flash of light—a crack of energy that went through James’s body before he lost consciousness. In the last second before he blacked out, he knew he was falling.
4
WAKING UP was suddenly a very difficult thing to do. Never in James’s life had he felt groggy before—his head ached—it was a frightening feeling. He knew pain—everyone felt pain from time to time. People couldn’t avoid the occasional spill every now and then, but the nans would release endorphins to minimize the pain and, whatever minor damage might be caused, be it a scraped knee or a bloody nose, was quickly repaired. This was different—this was a whole new experience.