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CHAPTER 2

“Okay, AI, I guess we’re stuck with each other,” Jason said when the President was finished. He was in the “state,” more like quadrant, of Carolina and the governor, confusingly, was the former governor of Georgia. Though he was at least a nationally known figure unlike whoever was governor of South Carolina. “So, you need a name. I’m going with Jewel for now.”

“Jewel it is,” Jewel responded. “Do I keep the look?”

“Yeah, but not the uniform,” Jason said.

“Nude then?” Jewel asked, grinning.

“No,” Jason replied, closing his eyes. She’d also drawn back the view to torso. “I need to concentrate. “Dress suit. Hair up. Glasses.”

“Standard PA look it is,” Jewel said.

“Okay . . . If I can get my brain back on track . . . ”

He stopped and realized how . . . hard that was. He was back to being twenty again in more ways than just having his fingers and teeth back. One flash of a CGI topless blonde and he was having a difficult time thinking about anything else.

No wonder it was so tough to get ahead in your twenties.

“Back on track . . . I was thinking about . . . Oh. How are we communicating?”

It sounded like the AI was talking through earpieces. But there were no earpieces.

“There’s a small implant in your mastoid bone,” Jewel said. “I can hear you when you speak or even subvocalize. A sort of hum without opening your mouth. You hear me as if there’s an earpiece.”

“Implants,” Jason said darkly. He’d read enough dystopian SF to not like the idea of implants.

“There is another,” Jewel said uncomfortably. “To control the flexmet with thought, there’s a small implant in a motion-control center of your brain.”

Jason had been playing with flexmet most of the President’s speech. The stuff responded to thought. You could make it form just about any shape and it would even move by thought, like weird tentacles.

“Any way to get that one out?” Jason asked. He wasn’t worried about what on Earth would be called a cochlear implant. They were commonly used by deaf people and weren’t directly connected to the brain.

“By a visit to a doctor,” Jewel said. “Once doctor’s offices are set up. But you’d lose most control over flexmet.”

“Table that for now,” Jason said, frowning. “There are large shipping containers. Any other types?”

“There are three stasis containers available,” the AI said. “Large, medium and small . . . ”

The response included pictures. The medium containers were the size of an Egyptian sarcophagus and the small were the size of a large ammo crate.

“Forty-five medium stasis containers fit snugly in a large. Six small stasis containers fit snuggly in a medium for a total of two hundred seventy cases in a large.”

“Babushka dolls,” Jason said musingly. He formed a small net with the flexmet, let it drop to his lap then put the phone in it and retracted it. “Where’s the energy come from?”

“The flexmet has nanometric energy storage built in. It can recharge from any available source.”

“Can it recharge from one of those tractors?”

“Yes. The one described by the President is a medium tractor. There are also small and large. Small tractors work with batteries, the large tractor has a larger fusion plant and more available power.”

“The large and medium have fusion power sources and all three have counter gravity and inertialess drive?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the fusion run on?”

“Helium three.”

“Hmmm . . . ” Jason formed the flexmet into a noose and retracted it. “How strong is this and how thin can it get?”

“The flexmet has a strength thirty thousand times stronger than spider silk and can get that thin. In that configuration it will cut but it is smart material so it will not allow itself to cut you.”

“I don’t have anything to test that statement.” He thought about it getting very thin and it practically vanished, then he pulled on it. Couldn’t break and nearly invisible. “This is the equivalent of a monoknife then. Hmmm . . . ”

He made the net again.

“Can it be operated by a drone? And how large of a net could I make with this?”

“If the drone has been taught to do so,” Jewel answered. “To assume the next question: You have the flexmet do something while attached to a drone or a device like me and it will replicate it. And the AIs can intuit what you’re trying to do. Practically any size.”

“Does flexmet wear out?” Jason asked. “What is the most common material in flexmet and where is it produced?”

“Flexmet wears out,” Jewel answered. “But how fast depends on how much it is being moved and stressed. There’s no one answer. When material breaks down it sheds into balls which can be recovered. It is very difficult to recycle. The base material is high-density polypropylene . . . ”

“Really?” Jason said, chuckling. “I was expecting something much more unobtainium.”

“The unobtainium is flexium, which comprises five percent of the material. A variant of graphene that is interwoven comprises ten percent. That provides the majority of the strength. Seventy percent is HDPE. HDPE as well as flexmet is produced in carbon refineries. There are three carbon refineries in the system. There are also three metals refineries in the system, three helium and hydrocarbon mines, three general factories . . . ”

“Three of everything for competition?”

“Yes.”

“HDPE produced the regular way from Earth? Polymerizing ethylene?”

“Yes.”

“There’s not going to be any oil on this planet,” Jason said. “I know that much. It’s too young for fossil beds from the look. Where’s the ethylene come from?”

“One of the three gas mines in orbit over planet twelve.”

“Do I have shares in any of the mines or carbon refineries?”

“Units?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you have one unit in Station Twelve Bravo and one unit in Carbon Converter Charlie.”

“Are people trading units?”

“There’s already a lively trade.”

“Broker’s fees?”

“The AIs are handling most of it. What would be called ‘over the counter’ trading between individuals.”

Jason thought about it for a moment longer.

“I want to move as many units as I can into one of the fuel stations and one of the carbon refineries.”

“I’ll get to work on that. Units can only be traded for units.”

“Understood. It’s going to take a while to get the colonization packs on the ground. The large ships can’t land so they’re going to have to be used in space. And people are going to want real food. Which means getting it from the planet. Natural, wild, foods at first. But real ingredients. Which means you have to have ships.”

“The station needs stuff from space,” Jewel pointed out.

“You don’t have taste buds.” Jason took a sip of distilled water. “Where is the food printer?”

A cubicle opened on the wall near the door.

“Hungry?” Jewel asked.

“I just ate,” Jason said. “How long were we in stasis?”

“That’s still being calculated,” Jewel said carefully.

“If there were astronomers woken up a month ago with the optics we’ve got to have . . . It’s been calculated. You can calculate it on the basis of movement of stars in Andromeda referring to the galactic center of the Milky Way.”

“It’s only an estimate,” Jewel said.

“What’s the estimate?” Jason asked.

“Two million years, more or less.”

“Two million?”

“It takes a long time to terraform a planet . . . ” Jewel said hastily.

“I get that,” Jason said. “Just soil takes forever and the best soil is loess which comes from glaciation and plants and animals working together but . . . ”

He thought about the issues. Too big to calculate. Out of his hands. He was going to have to depend upon “top men” on that one. He liked science but he was no astrophysicist.

He wondered in passing what members of the astrophysicist community had been secretly conservative enough to be in a society where Ron Dewalt was chosen as the President Pro Tempore.

“What kind of a society can do something over a two-million-year period?” he asked.

“Robots?” Jewel replied. “AIs?”

“Everything breaks down eventually, Jewel. Equipment. People. Computers. Societies. Planets and stars. That’s the nature of entropy. Way too big to worry about now. Like whatever punched in the side of the shell. How do I get stuff out of storage?”

“You order it,” Jewel said. “It will be delivered to your compartment. If you are not in, you’ll be contacted and asked if the container can be placed in your compartment. Otherwise, it is returned. The corridors are too narrow to leave it out and it might be stolen. You can schedule when it is to arrive.”

“How much?” Jason asked.

“Internal shipment, for now, is a government monopoly with a fixed fee,” Jewel said. “To recover from storage for the first time is free. If there is repeated back and forth, it can require a fee. Any business shipment on the station, such as if you sell something from your storage, costs two credits for a small container. Only small containers can be shipped to a home. It is six credits for a medium container. Large containers are prohibited outside of industrial areas.”

“Two credits for a small container,” Jason said. “Call those cases. Cases, coffins, conex.”

“Okay.”

“I need to get to the planet,” Jason mused. “I’m not claustrophobic but this ain’t me. I’m an outdoors guy, I’m twenty again and there’s an entire planet to explore. I don’t need a colonization set. I need one of those medium tractors, bunch of flexmet, some stuff from my storage, some containers. I heard what the President said but people are going to want real food. Bunch of flexmet. A ride. And a business partner that understands business ’cause I’m terrible at it. Been there, lost the T-shirt in the bankruptcy.”

“Richard?” Jewel asked carefully. “I’m surprised you’ll even talk.”

“You know about that?” Jason asked.

“It’s in your file. Analysis of things taken from your postings on various boards and comments of others. It’s not public knowledge.”

“Eh. No harm. Like I said, I’ve never borne a grudge about it. Just couldn’t attend the wedding. Schedule conflicts and the like. Not Richard. He’s a banker, not this kind of businessman. . . . How much to register a corporation similar to an S corporation?”

“One credit,” Jewel said.

“Credits are worth a lot,” Jason replied. “Shipping, on the other hand, is expensive. Weird. Register . . . hmm . . . Can we use Brandywine Foods?”

“Yes.”

“Register Brandywine Foods,” Jason said. “I need a business partner . . . Preferably one in Carolina . . . ”

“Tim Wilson is in Carolina and you have very positive electronic communications with him,” Jewel pointed out.

“See if he’s available,” Jason said.

Tim had been his boss his first time as a contractor in Iraq and as such was the reason Jason had gotten into logistics. He’d bought a small manufacturing business afterward and not only ran it well, had increased it in size. Finally retired and lived in Kennesaw, across Atlanta from Jason’s home in Loganville. He’d do well if he’d agree.

“Log dude!”

Tim Wilson had been in his fifties with a bullet-shaved head to hide male pattern baldness when they’d worked together. In his seventies when they . . . left? He didn’t look seventy anymore.

“Jesus, Ops, you have hair?” Jason said, grinning. “I thought you were born bald!”

“Fuck you!” Tim said, laughing. “My AI said the male pattern baldness has been corrected, so there.”

“I’d just lie there and sweat,” Jason said. “I want to start a business. But I need a partner. It will take a business loan but I may have an in on that one.”

“Where?” Tim asked. “I got your contact about Richard. Seriously?”

“Regional VP of BOA. I think he can handle it.”

“Yeah, but . . . Monica’s new husband?” Tim said.

“Not new anymore,” Jason said. “That was a long time ago and she upgraded. Jewel, where are we at on the bank?”

“The Derren Bank of Carolina is open for business,” Jewel said. “Electronic anyway. You have one point eight percent equity based on investment and helping put together the investment package.

“Point in the new laws: Individual depositor banks are under federal regulation but are limited to one state. So, there cannot be system-wide banks or the functional effect under holding corporations. So it’s the Derren Bank of Carolina. You can, however, use your credits in any state. And there are regulations for investment banks which will require more concentration of credit than is currently possible.”

“I should be able to talk Richard into it with someone who’s been successful in business,” Jason said, considering that tidbit. It eliminated “too big to fail” banks and was one of the things some had suggested after the 2007 banking crisis. “Here’s the two-minute pitch. You know business. I’ve tried it. I suck at it. But when I wasn’t working in the Sandbox, what was I doing?”

“Reading,” Tim said. “Probably some trashy science fiction novel.”

“And now we live in science fiction,” Jason said, holding up the flexmet mesh. “I’ve been playing with this stuff and asking questions. I know the President said we need more than just fresh food. But people are going to want it. A lot. And I know how to get it. Lots of it. Tons. With this. I need a tractor, some containers, lots of flexmet and a ride. That’s it. And I’ll bring up as much food as the containers will hold.”

“Distribution. Storage. Refrigeration if you’re talking about fresh,” Tim said.

“Storage: The containers are all time stasis. No need for refrigeration. Stops time, stops bacterial growth. Distro: Figured it out already. Let the log guy worry about those questions.”

“The log guy sits in the office,” Tim said. “You’re talking about dropping to the planet.”

“I can run it from there,” Jason said. “Seriously. This will work.”

“What kind of food?” Tim said.

“Depends on the season,” Jason said. “Probably fish or shrimp. Commercial fishing brings in tons of protein.”

“And where are you getting a boat?” Tim asked. “Got a commercial fishing boat in storage?”

“You can make a boat out of this,” Jason said, forming a boat. “A net. A fish trap.” He formed the material into each in demonstration. “And it’s strong as hell. You know how many different jobs I’ve done. All I need to do is get to the planet and . . . not play but work with this. I can figure it out and make us a ton of money. Not to mention, fresh food.”

“That sounds nice,” Tim said, nodding. “You have done just about everything.”

“With enough of this stuff, a power source and a virgin planet?” Jason said. “I can load six, twelve containers, more, in less than two weeks. Just need the loan for the materials and a ride. That’s the tough part. We’ll need some investors and since I hit my contacts list already, I’m not sure we can get them. Also, we’ll need a business plan to show Richard.”

“Which is my part but I don’t understand the business,” Tim said. “Which is a problem. Also, what’s the split?”

“Fifty-five, forty-five me?” Jason said cautiously. “My ideas . . . ” Jason grimaced and waited for the haggling. “It’s not going to take a lot of your time. I’m going to be doing most of the work . . . ”

“You are such a wimp, Log,” Tim said, shaking his head. “I’m okay with the split, even with you as majority partner. But if I’m running the business side, Jason, I’m running the business side.”

“Agreed,” Jason said quickly. “There’s a reason I contacted you. I suck at the business side. But I can find the ways to make us money. Not all the ideas are going to work, but commercial fishing is a no brainer in this situation. It’s just a matter of figuring out the best way to use flexmet and the bots. Just need to get the money together for a round trip and the equipment.”

“You’re not the only one who wants to get out of the compartment,” Tim pointed out.

“All the things I’ve done come together on this,” Jason said. “It’s all about the out of doors, science fiction and logistics. How to move the most protein with the smallest amount of effort. And who’s the best . . . Tim? Who’s the best?”

“You’re the best,” Tim admitted grudgingly. “But I’m still having a hard time forgiving you for Slovakia.”

“That was not my fault,” Jason said. “I’m putting in another five hundred on this investment. We need to find out how much financing we need. Really, one drop and we should be financed. It’s coming up with the money for the drop and extract. After one drop and what we should make from the load, we’ll all get out of these boxes.”

“I’m uncertain,” Tim said, regarding Jason carefully. “Log, you’re a great log guy . . . ”

“But I’ve never been particularly successful,” Jason said. “If this was being pitched to you by someone else, would it be a good idea?”

“Yes,” Tim admitted.

“Let’s get together and talk about it,” Jason said.

“Worth the time,” Tim said, looking around. “And to get out of this cubicle. AI, where’s a restaurant or bar?”

“There are currently no restaurants or bars,” Tim’s AI responded. Based on the voice, it had not developed any specific personality.

“Meet at Lambda Central Square,” Jewel suggested, helpfully.

“Lambda . . . Central Square?” Tim said.

“You two might as well realize where you’re at,” Jewel said, bringing up a 3D schematic of the station on the screen.

“Starting with: You are both in the state of Carolina. . . . All residential and retail commercial areas of the states are central to that cube with the government housed central to that.” She highlighted the residential and retail commercial as she was speaking. “Warehousing and in-station manufacturing are external to residential and government. This is probably for security of the personnel against damage to the exterior of the station.”

“Makes sense,” Tim said. “Keep the personnel, kids and government deep where they’re less likely to be harmed.”

“Each residential/retail portion of the cube is itself a cube that is twenty-five levels high and twenty-five sections wide,” Jewel continued. “Every address is therefore designated by a series of letters and numbers. For example, Jason is presently at Carolina R, standing for Residential, Six, his level in the residential area; Delta, designating which portion of R-6 he is in, Nine, refining it more; Lambda, refining it more, Seventeen; Sierra, Twelve. Or, Carolina R-6-D-9-L-17-S-12. That’s your address.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Jason said.

“But,” Jewel continued, “each person was placed with their neighbors, at least the ones who made it to this system, surrounding them. So, you, Jason, are still in a neighborhood that conforms more or less to Loganville. And, frankly, if you addressed something to someone in Loganville either Carolina or Georgia, it would probably make it. You, Tim, are surrounded by people from Kennesaw.”

“Could be good, could be bad,” Tim said. “Lambda Central Square?”

“Nine alphanumerics in the full address,” Jewel said. “At six, seven and eight there are parks. The central point for the two of you is Lambda Central Square, or the central square for the L designator. Instead of Lima, for some reason the name given to it is Lambda. Possibly to avoid confusion with the city. That is the central park for the refined location of Lambda in that address. It more or less conforms to the main park for the Atlanta Metro area. Somewhat equivalent to Piedmont Park. It is central between the two of you.”

“Ah,” Tim said. “And how do we get there?”

“Walk?” Jewel said. “There are also slidewalks. It’s not going to kill you.”

“Security situation?” Jason asked.

“At the moment people are just confused and making personal contact,” Jewel said. “Once they calm down and assess, we’ll see if there are major security issues. Right now, none.”

“That means more or less walking through downtown Atlanta,” Jason said. “That generally defines ‘security issues.’ Which is why I asked.”

“I’ll repeat,” Jewel said astringently, “there are no current security issues. We’re tied in to the security AIs. Currently, security is responding to three incidents in the Lambda sector, each of which can be defined as domestic disturbances.”

“Okay,” Jason said, grimacing. His AI had a personality. “Meet at Lambda Square?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tim said. “And gives some time to explore. I’ve got one other thing I’ve got to do first but sounds like I can do it on the way. How long to get there, direct?”

“Thirty minutes,” his AI replied.

“Meet there in an hour or so?” Tim asked.

“Will do,” Jason replied.

* * *

“Phone, tell me where Julie Larsen is.” Sam shook the phone, as if that would make it respond faster.

“Yes.” The AI’s face on Sam’s screen was a cute girl’s face. “Do you want to finish setting up your device first?”

“What?”

“Is this a good look and voice for your AI?”

“I don’t care,” Sam said. He wasn’t sure where he was; he’d bolted from his parents’ . . . cubicle . . . and was lurching around the station blind. “Sure. Where’s Julie Larsen?”

“Take a deep breath,” the AI said. “If you turn right at the next corridor, you’ll find a little sitting room with a bench.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “Why do I need a bench?” But he followed the directions and went to the sitting room. Then he leaned against the wall. “Look, you don’t want to tell me something. What is it?”

“Julie didn’t make it.” The AI smiled apologetically.

Sam fell against the wall and slowly slid down it.

“Julie died? But I was . . . I just saw her.”

“You saw her many years ago,” the AI corrected him. “Many. But I didn’t say she was dead. Julie didn’t make the standards for this system. She’s the wrong kind of person to be here. But that doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

Sam lay slumped, a puddle at the base of the wall.

“Where is she, then?”

“I don’t know,” the AI said.

“Who does?” Sam asked.

“Did you hear President Dewalt?”

“I don’t actually care about President Dewalt,” Sam said. “I want you to start answering my questions.”

“Was Julie a conservative?”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Sam shouted.

“This is a conservative system,” the AI said.

“That’s totally stupid!” Sam snarled. “You don’t just . . . pull people apart over politics!”

“Or you could, you know, have an instant civil war when people don’t have the societal structure to prevent it,” the AI said with a metaphorical shrug. “If your world was destroyed and people had to be moved, do you think it was a better idea to put people like Julie in the same system with people like the Copts who think homosexuals should be hanged?”

“The cops think homosexuals should be hanged?” Sam said. “Are you serious? Julie was right! All cops really are bastards!”

“Copts with a t,” the AI said. “They are a Christian sect originally from Egypt who are very fundamentalist Christian and are nearly a majority society in the state of Helenus here in Pegasus. They tend to support strong laws against homosexuality and a variety of other sins.”

“Oh,” Sam said.

“I need a name,” the AI said. “You could call me Julie, if you wanted to.”

“Reskin your avatar,” Sam said immediately. “You’re a boy now. No, you’re a cartoon caveman, and your name is Thog.”

The next voice didn’t come from his device.

“Hey, Sam.”

It was a man’s voice that spoke, a familiar-sounding tenor with a faint buzz in it, and Sam looked up. The fellow standing over him looked familiar, but he’d have been a couple years ahead of Sam, if they went to the same school. He was black and sort of pear-shaped, with wide hips for a man, and he had a thick head of curly hair. He wore a nerdy-looking polo shirt and tan slacks. Sam didn’t recognize him.

“Sorry, man,” Sam said. “If you’re looking for directions or . . . help or . . . anything. I got nothing.”

“You don’t recognize your old pastor, then.”

“Jesus,” Sam said, his eyes widening.

“Well, no.” Pastor Mickey smiled. “But I’m trying to be on his side.”

Sam dragged himself into a slightly more dignified sitting position.

“Sorry. You just look . . . way too young.”

“I was thinking I might help you.” Mickey sat on the bench, clasped his hands, and smiled.

“You know where Julie Larsen is?”

“I, ah . . . Are your parents here? Abigail?”

Sam climbed to his feet. His hands were shaking.

“Yeah, my family’s fine, except that my parents look like you.”

“I expect your dad looks a lot like you.” Pastor Mickey chuckled.

“Yeah, he does. But I’m trying to find Julie Larsen.”

“Julie’s a fine young woman.” The pastor nodded and rubbed his knuckles. “Did you listen to what President Dewalt said about there being other systems than this one?”

Sam felt dizzy. He leaned against the wall.

“You’re saying Julie was a liberal.”

“You knew that, right?” Pastor Mickey spread his hands. “You could tell that just by the way she took the Sermon on the Mount. She had a lot of energy for the alms part, but when I read the verses about not committing adultery, you’d have thought she had a sliced lemon in one cheek and a salt lick in the other. God help us all if I tried to tackle homosexuality.”

“I don’t care,” Sam said. “I love her.”

“I love her too,” said Pastor Mickey. “But she’s probably not here.”

“Then I don’t want to be here, either,” Sam said. “I don’t want to exist!”

Sam left immediately so Pastor Mickey wouldn’t see the tears on his cheeks.

* * *

Jason’s clothes were baggy and his pants weren’t going to stay up. He wasn’t going to go walking around like a gangbanger, so he used flexmet to poke a hole in his belt and cinch the jeans tight. Figure out something better later.

Issue: Jewel might say that there were no security issues but he wasn’t going to go around unarmed. And it sounded, based on the President’s address, like that was totally okay.

Issue: It seemed all his limited gun collection was in storage.

“How long to get stuff out of personal storage?” Jason asked.

“About thirty minutes, normally,” Jewel said. “The entire station is unpacking and even with the efficiency of the shipping system in the station . . . Make that an hour . . . Two . . . ”

“Fraggle rock,” Jason said.

“Problem?” Jewel asked.

“Besides clothes?” Jason replied then paused. “I don’t want to get on the bad side of my AI right off the bat, but . . . ”

“You’re worried about the security situation,” Jewel replied with a sigh. “I guess the Cybers knew the first thing you’d ask for.”

A compartment extended from the wall and exposed his Colt 1911 in a belt holster and three filled magazines.

“There’s also some clean spare socks, underwear, a couple of T-shirts and a clean pair of jeans,” Jewel said. “Oh, towel, toiletries, sheets, pillow, blanket . . . What you would take on a short trip plus sheets and pillows. All the basic necessities.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, looking at the walls. “All in there?”

“All in there,” Jewel said. “Along with the shower, the sink, the toilet, and the kitchen. Most of which are all the same stuff.”

“Please tell me I’m not taking a dump in my sink,” Jason said.

“You won’t be taking a dump in your sink,” Jewel replied. “Not even the same flexmet.”

“Is there another outer, shirt or jacket in there?” Jason asked.

An inventory of gear in the compartment appeared on the screen on the wall.

He selected his old, worn-in leather jacket and it was extruded to him.

With that on he put the holster on his belt, checked the action on his pistol, loaded it, seated it, and attached the spare mag holder.

Properly dressed.

“Public toilets?” Jason asked, walking to the door. Like everything else, it was flexmet.

“On the way,” Jewel said.

“Okay,” he said, looking at the door. He took a deep breath. “Open sesame?”

* * *

Cade lay stretched out on the shelf that passed for a bed in his gray cell. His wife and his daughter kept their voices down, but they were talking about the clothes that the robot overlords had packed for them in drawers that slid in and out of the walls. Maybe they thought Cade had a migraine—so much the better.

This whole space station thing wasn’t turning out to be a dream, so he was trying to force himself to think through what to do about it.

“Colonization sets” President Dewalt had said. Cade had a hard time imagining how exactly he’d use the tools described by the former governor. Drones? What for? And the godawful thing they were calling a tractor looked like a robot out of some low-budget 1970s British science fiction show. Could it really do the work?

“Maybe I can get tools,” he muttered.

“Sure, Dad,” Abby said. “You can make them right here.”

“What are you talking about?” He turned his head slightly and cocked an eye at her.

She held a lump in her hands, like a gold bar, only gray. Without apparent effort, she stretched it out, narrowed its neck, twisted a socket, and suddenly she was holding the metal head of a hoe.

“There’s kind of a contest in the social channels to see who can make the coolest things out of flexmet,” Abby said. “But, ah . . . I’m not going to enter this hoe.”

Abby’s ease with the plastic metal substance only made Cade feel worse.

Still, at least he knew he could chop up the soil and farm by hand, if he had to. If Abby would come along with him to make the tools.

He heard a pinging sound. It took him a moment to realize that someone was at their door.

“Door,” he groaned.

“You too busy to get it?” Mabel’s voice was a little clipped.

“Fair point.” He stood and moved to the door. He wanted to limp across the little room, but the truth was, physically, he felt fine.

The door cycled open at his touch, dilating like an eye, and a young black man stood there, smiling.

Scratch that. He looked in his twenties and a bit like . . . 

“I think you’re Pastor Mickey,” Cade said.

“Boy, I think so, too.” The pastor smiled. “And I think you’re my friend Cade Oldham.”

“I used to be,” Cade said. “I suppose I might be again in thirty years or so, if I can manage to get a little dirt under these fingernails.”

“I’ll let you know just as soon as I spot any actual dirt,” Mickey promised. “In the meantime, I was hoping you might join me at a little worship service this Wednesday.”

“Sure,” Cade said. “Any idea when Wednesday is?”

“According to my AI friend, today is Monday,” the pastor replied.

“Sure feels like it.”


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