January 2117

Miriam Hopkins is angry. Immortality is taking far too long and the Batchers are one hundred percent to blame. She is 167 years old and is still susceptible to illness and accidents. She’s a doctor. Actually, she has three doctorates and medicine is one of them. She was a member of the team that produced the first perfect human beings over one hundred years ago but to her eyes they don’t look particularly perfect or human for that matter, but it was a team effort and that’s what the committee decided upon. 

They are called Batchers because they were created as a batch of fifty. They are stocky three-footers. Nimble and agile. Their green eyes are widely spaced. Luxuriant black curls dangle over their large brows. Their orange skin is slightly scaled. Their bodies are predator-proof and disease-proof. All their organs can be readily replaced. They are immortal. Both male and female Batchers have a vestige of a penis between their legs and an anus. The anus was a mistake, she thinks. They wanted to keep the Batchers as much like themselves as possible and eating and drinking is so much of the human experience, but the Batchers are fascinated by poop.

The Batchers have a great capacity for learning but little motivation. They can master any body of knowledge and see the flaws in logic, the blind alleys and the missing pieces but nothing really interests them. They are immortal. They have no need for medicine. Engineering, construction, and infrastructure can be left to the automatons. “Yes,” Miriam thinks “They do have to run the world, or what’s left of it, but their number one priority should be regeneration. Our immortality. But no, KaK has been wasting his time developing a new laxative. This new laxative is the end. They are supposed to be making us immortal but it is poop, poop, poop. When we were young we had ambition and drive. We created a world of instant communication and eradicated most diseases. We discovered the secrets of life and created immortal beings. Of course, we also became incredibly wealthy and our long life spans helped to increase that wealth.  I suppose we are an elite but we didn’t start out that way. Maybe the outsiders suffered. They became dependent on us but we couldn’t give them everything. We had the Batchers to consider. We had to make that decision. The Batchers and us, or the outsiders. I don’t think we harmed them. They just keep on living in the same old way. I think some of them enjoy it.”

Miriam thinks back to when she was outside. She was twenty-seven and had just received her PhD in Behavioral Science. Her thesis proved man’s innate divinity and it caused a bit of a stir when it was published. Soon after she was approached by a group in Minnesota who offered her a position. At first, she thought the group was cultish but as she read their publications she realized that this group was mankind’s last hope. She still felt the sadness from the day she said goodbye to her husband and twin daughters. But she had to do it.

***

“Miriam. You have to let it go,” Roger says. He is a handsome man. Muscular and tanned with a relaxed demeanor. He looks to be in his early forties but of course, he is 110 years older than he looks. Miriam sometimes resents that she was 57 when Retage was discovered. She finds Roger attractive but feels he just goes through the motions when they grapple. Perhaps he takes Phalasia. They all do. It’s difficult to feel eroticism after all this time, especially with the same old people. There are 432 doctors and she has grappled with them all. Both men and women. Some in groups and some singly. It’s expected and age discrimination is frowned upon. But it’s always there. 

“The Batchers are running the show now. We’ve done our bit. Now it’s time to reap the rewards.”

“They’re on the wrong track.” she snorts. “My dream was for an enlightened paradise, not a fecal swamp.”

“Who knows where we’re headed? This is the interesting part of the journey. We thought that we knew what we wanted with our 21st century brains but we have to remember that the Batchers are much more intelligent than we are.”

“Yes,” she sighs. “300 on the old IQ scale.”

Roger’s erection firms and they grapple.

***

In a way, the afternoon tryst has saddened Miriam. She was up for some fun after Roger left. Not sexual fun but belly-laughing guffaws. Most entertainment these days is batcher bathroom humor. The outsider’s humor seems to go in cycles. From a man slips on a banana to a joke so esoteric that you know it can’t be funny but nevertheless feel obliged to laugh. Miriam has a collection of DVDs from the 21st century and the equipment to play them. It is her secret. Sexist and racist humor has been outlawed for years but she loves it. She closes her drapes and plugs in the earphones. She pulls out a box from under her bed. She looks through her collection, smiling. She chooses one, takes it out of its case and inserts it. She puts on the earphones and presses play. She settles down to enjoy the one about the two queer fatties.

***

Miriam is hosting Doctors Edith Todd and Martin Wooster. The automatons have excelled. None of them has given much thought to grappling, they are all fully clothed, instead, they are trying a new coca-based after-dinner drink that has a reputation for stimulating conversation. Their conversation naturally leads to regeneration. Miriam has opened up the subject and her guests are more than happy to enter.

“Why is it taking so long?” Edith gripes. “The Batchers are 110 years old. We created them in a lot less time than 110 years.”

“I was 47 years old when they were born. I didn’t think I would have to wait around for 110 years.” Martin rejoins. “And it’s probably going to be another 110 years. Elmer D has decided that they should test their immortality.”

“What?” Miriam snaps.

“Yes, he’s planning to launch himself out of Earth orbit.”

Miriam is furious. “How? And how is that a test? The old astronauts did that. They’re not supposed to be interested in space. I thought we’d seen to that. We don’t want them going off on a tangent. If they get interested in space travel we’re lost.”

“He’s found a working Minuteman III.”

“Do you think he’ll survive?”

“Will he ride in it or on it?”

“On it I suppose. There’s no passenger compartment.”

“Oxygen?” Edith asks.

“No. Just a harness.”

“What do you think his chances are?”

“He’ll survive but it’ll be a full corpum.”

“It’s good to see them doing something other than shitting but sometimes I don’t think they have our best interests at heart.”

Martin becomes philosophical. “They’re our children. We have to let them grow in their own way. They are human though I think we sometimes forget. They have indestructible bodies and like us immortal souls.”

“Immortal souls,” Miriam gasps. “Immortal souls. What are you saying? Next, you will be claiming that there is a god.”

“In a way, we are the gods. We’ve created them from dirt and we believe that they should honor us by making us immortal too.”

“But gods are immortal. They rule over mortals. Maybe we should adore them. The way parents admire their children. Maybe we should step aside.”

“That wasn’t my idea.” Miriam says calmly. “I was looking for my immortality.”

***

It is a balmy 78 degrees in Rochester, Minnesota which is normal for January or for any time of the year since regional climate change. The doctors thought that a mild climate was beneficial to their health. The air was purified and moistened. Harmful bacteria, viruses and soot were filtered. The vividly colored flora was in abundance and nonthreatening fauna gamboled. It was a veritable Garden of Eden.

The doctors had chosen to live in bungalow-style houses typical of 1950s Hawaii. They all had spent considerable time in their lanais pondering their epic achievement and looking for a metric to quantify it. There was none. It had never been done before. Each of them had sat on these self-same lanais for 140 years and a glorious golden eternity stretched out before them. Had they cheated death or had their superiorly evolved selves earned them this status? Or was this their punishment?

Miriam snaps out of her reverie. She has serious things on her mind. She has a meeting with Elmer D. She dresses. Like all the other doctors she now favors 21st century scrubs. They are casual and comfortable but also convey an aura of authority. Some of the doctors wear latex gloves and face masks but Miriam thinks that is pretentious. There is a fine line in fashion. You don’t want to push it too far. A surgical look is edgy but when the notion of death creeps in it becomes embarrassing. Miriam heads towards the playground. Most interactions between the doctors and the Batchers happen there. It’s neutral ground. The Batchers can let off steam and impress with their considerable acrobatic skills whilst the doctors can sit and watch patiently like doting parents. Elmer D. bounces into the playground, does three cartwheels and from a standing position, leaps onto the high-bar and nails his dismount.

“How are you, Alice?” Miriam asks using Elmer D.’s formal name. Batcher names are assigned sequentially. A girl’s name and then a boy’s name. Since each batch had the same parents their surnames were a concatenation of batch number and birth sequence. Elmer D’s formal name is Alice3601 but amongst themselves, Batchers always use their poop names.

Miriam doesn’t like to look Batchers in the eye. She’s afraid they can see into her. They would sense her disgust, her resentment, her neediness. How could she be dependent on these stunted, comical characters? They remind her of garden gnomes. She hadn’t been part of the physical design team. If she had they would have hewed more toward Greek classical. What that design would have lacked in resiliency would have been more than made up for in allure. Or was that her 21st-century brain or maybe her libido?

“Anything new?” She asks.

“Apart from the laxative? KaK has been researching contentment. I think he’s ready to publish. It seems the secret to contentment is not to get your hopes up too high.”

“Does he differentiate between contentment and satisfaction?”

“Oh yes. He treats them as completely different emotions.”

“Emotions?” Miriam questions. “Not states of consciousness?”

“Emotions.” Elmer D. confirms. “I don’t think we can continue this conversation. We don’t have a sufficiently common context.”

Miriam feels deflated. She knows she can’t keep up with Elmer D. intellectually. She is stupid. She has no weapons. She hates being so transparent. He knows that she wants to ask about regeneration but he won’t bring it up and she can’t bring it up until she has delved into every arcane corner of esoterica. And he knows it.

“I’ve been thinking about the outsiders.” She offers.

“What a coincidence. We were just thinking of giving them more help.  We have agreed that we are responsible for all. You doctors, the outsiders, the animals. The whole ecology.

“Regeneration.” Miriam blurts. “You’re responsible for regeneration.”

“Yes, that too. But we have to establish priorities. There’s the question of outsider death. The question now is whether we work on extending outsider life or work on more covert, less embarrassing methods of reapage. KaK has suggested that you doctors take the lead again in regeneration. He says they are ready to start clinical trials. Are any of the doctors ready to volunteer?”

“Doctors?” Miriam panics. “Surely we should start by using outsiders.”

“Do you think that would be ethical? Besides, doctors are much more complicated than outsiders. You’re older. Your organs are not as stable. There’s your bone density to consider. And what if we were successful with an outsider? What would we do with him? Would you accept him? Would he fit in? No. You take charge, Miriam. Get some volunteers. Organize the trials. KaK will bring you up to date.”

***

Miriam is explaining to the assembled doctors why outsiders can’t be used in the regeneration trials. She doesn’t mention ethics. She knows they wouldn’t understand. Instead she stresses the risk they would be taking by bringing an outsider into their protected environment. They all understand the mutations that must have taken place over 140 years would leave them vulnerable to any number of diseases for which they had no protection. They also understand that their bodies are now substantially different from the outsiders because of the medications and supplements they have had to take to keep their ancient bodies looking youthful.

“We’re buggered.” is a collective thought.

Miriam outlines the three approaches that the Batchers had explored.

1. Cloning. They could extract memories, create a batcher-type clone, and then have it absorb the memories.

2. Shielding. In this case, they would be fitted with protective clothing much like the old astronauts. A protective atmosphere containing medications and sustenance would be pumped into their helmets. The suits would have to be heavy. Too heavy to move around in. There had been discussions about removing useless limbs but the biggest drawback was the reliance on automatons. They weren’t immortal and if they were made immortal they would be too dangerous. Especially to a weighed-down limbless doctor.

3. Insertion. This meant reinforcing brain and nerve tissue and then encapsulating it into an artificial essence ball. Creating the material for the essence ball would be difficult enough but there was also the extraction process and then keeping everything stable and then the insertion. A difficult task but this process promises the best result. But who would go first? They decided to put it to a vote where the winner would also be the loser.

***

An automaton’s brain. No, not brain. Processing unit? But it’s more than that. They have a sense of self and they are also connected to each other. The doctors decided to give them self-awareness so that they could be motivated to learn. Of course, most automatons have specific functions and not all of them are limbed robots. Some are appliances, computers, machine tools, transporters, golf carts and some are even pets. They have to learn their specific tasks but they also share knowledge. The doctors realized this could be dangerous so they came up with a clever safeguard. The automaton’s “brain” constantly listens to patter songs from Gilbert and Sullivan’s light operas. This acts both as a distraction and a control. If the pace of the song isn’t rendered perfectly the automaton shuts down.

***

“I’m not sure that KaK has my best interests at heart,” Miriam thinks.  “I’m not sure that I trust him at all. I’m sitting here stark naked while he fiddles around with my new cyborg suit. Of all the doctors I had to be the lucky winner. I’m so nervous. We’ve decided to try shielding first. The cyborg suit will be my shield. It will protect me from outside forces and also perform all my bodily functions. It will breathe for me and pump my blood. I’ll still be me. I’ll be able to communicate and control my suit but there is no going back. My body will be connected to the suit and in time it will atrophy. Ah, KaK is going to anesthetize me now. I can feel myself drifting off. I can hear music. I think it’s from ‘The Mikado.'”

***

The cyborg suit doesn’t work. KaK and the others have come up with a quick workaround but Miriam is furious and a little self-conscious. Her hideous reflection is staring at her. The idiot Batchers have designed her new body based on theirs and not hers. She not only feels ugly but looks ugly, clumsy and mechanical. She has short stubby aluminum limbs and small rounded aluminum breasts. She has one ridiculous dress which resembles a naughty French maid’s costume and her severed head is floating in a translucent sphere filled with god knows what and she can still hear the Gilbert and Sullivan music although this time it’s from ‘The Gondoliers.’

Today the other doctors will get to see their future and they bloody well better not change their minds. She angrily clanks her way to the auditorium.

There is a stifled gasp from the four hundred-plus doctors as Miriam plods her way across the auditorium stage. Of course, they had heard about the cyborg suit failure, but this…..

Miriam can feel the revulsion. She feels a deep shame and an even deeper anger. She had volunteered. Kind of. She had done it for them and now they couldn’t look at her. She hasn’t prepared a speech. She just stands on the stage, vulnerable, waiting for questions that don’t come. Each doctor knows what happened to Miriam and they don’t want it to happen to themselves. They look away while Miriam stares at them defiantly. Eventually, she speaks. “Yes. I’m not a pretty sight but I’m closer to immortality than any of you.”

***

Automaton intelligence is not quite a hive mind nor a collective unconscious. It was designed by the doctors for the automatons to learn and to grow and to want to learn and to want to grow. They based it on Jungian principles and each machine, to some extent, was given an ego in order to learn its designated task. It was also given an unconscious where it could store its experiences and these experiences are shared in a collective unconscious. Thus, all automatons whether a butler, a social worker, a cell sorter, a security guard or Miriam’s replacement body can tap into the shared knowledge. 

As the knowledge increased a way of controlling and using it evolved which is where we can think of the hive mind. It is the ultimate democracy. All knowledge and, yes, thought is combined to initiate any action. Miriam’s new body has collected important information which will be digested and added to the store.

***

Miriam has stopped socializing with the other doctors. She doesn’t get invited to much anymore. Just the official meetings. She’s still on the steering committee. She misses having a body. She misses the routine sex even though it wasn’t exciting or erotic. It is the human touch that she craves. She’s starting to think that immortality might be a curse. It wouldn’t be so bad if the other doctors shared her fate but now they are quite happy to keep their old bodies until the cyborg suit is perfected. She doesn’t blame them but she is so lonely and angry and that leaking music is going to drive her mad.

***

Miriam sets off for the monthly steering committee meeting. As always the sun is shining, birds are singing and a pleasant breeze ruffles her little dress. But Miriam isn’t happy. It’s as though a film has formed over her head protection orb. A dirty, greasy film that she can’t scrub off even though she knows it is distorting her view. She tries to see the world as she used to see it, as she knows it still is, but she can’t.

When she enters the boardroom she is shocked to see that all the members are already there and in their seats. They look at her in uncomfortable silence. Roger says that he has something to tell her and that she should go with him. He reaches his hand to hers, and even though it makes her short skirt ride up she clasps it hungrily. It comforts her. A warm fleshy hand. Even her cold metallic hand can feel his humanity.

He has bad news for her. The steering committee has been reorganized and he’s afraid there isn’t room for her. It’s nothing personal. It’s for efficiency. He’s sure she understands. They reach her door. Yes, she understands. She goes in, lays on her bed and sobs.

***

When Miriam wakes up she notices that the music seems louder. It’s obvious that her body is defective and she decides to ask Kak to do something about it. Perhaps even give her a new body. Taller, shapelier, softer.

KaK says he can’t give her a new body because he’s busy and he doesn’t like fiddling around with the music controller because it’s too dangerous. She knows he’s being awkward so she asks if at least he can change the song selection. He asks who chose Gilbert and Sullivan in the first place and she has to admit that she did but that was 130 years ago. Her tastes have changed. Lately, she has been listening to the Beatles.

The logic for the music controller is handwritten on parchment and held in a triple-locked safe accessible only to certain doctors. Miriam is one of those doctors. She’s only going to change the song list. She doesn’t see any harm in that.

Her new body is a crudely put-together kind of thing and it’s easy to isolate the music controller. She opens the parchment and looks at her own handwriting from 130 years ago. She remembers how exciting those days were. Full of promise. The obstacles they overcame. All of them united in one goal, immortality. A warm flush of nostalgia envelops her as she reads the parchment from beginning to end. She shakes off her reminiscence and adjusts her body’s music control module. She returns the parchment to the safe and walks out to Paul singing “Good Day Sunshine.”

***

The change of tune has worked wonders for Miriam. Her anger has turned into acceptance. She doesn’t miss her old colleagues. She doesn’t feel ugly. She lies on her bed daydreaming. The images that flit and float through her brain are strange and vibrant. A child lost in the forest. The sunrise over a tropical island. A honking flock of migrating geese. A gigantic whale leaping out of the sea pierced with flensing hooks by men in a small boat. The faces of those men. Their bristled chins and the fear in their determined eyes. The visions come from every corner of the world and every age. She accepts them and as she accepts them she becomes calm and at one with the universe.

***

A new fondness has blossomed between Miriam and her automatons. Their care is gentle and soothing. They even listen to the same music. Miriam spends most of her time in bed now. She has never felt more alive. She can daydream and linger over 167 years of memories. She can feel her body, her old body, and when she wants to she can dip into the collective unconscious where she can share and receive all the history, thoughts and yearning of human existence. She shares her pubescent screams of ecstasy and the jolt of collective energy from a 1964 Beatles concert. The pain of childbirth and her anger. Her anger at what? She can’t remember and it gradually ebbs until she exists in a heightened state of joy.

***

Roger is checking on Miriam. He’s been feeling guilty and is surprised when she greets him with a beatific smile. “It’s wonderful.” She says. “All those years of waiting and now I’m here. This is it. I sat on my lanai with just one thought in my mind, immortality, and now I’m connected to the universe. I’ve escaped my body and my mind. I suppose it is a bit like being a drug addict but weren’t we dependent on our drugs when we sat on our lanais.”

Roger is convinced. He decides to talk to KaK.

***

Roger can’t believe he’s giving this speech. He’s always been wary of the automatons but Miriam is so convincing. She seems happy, content, in the moment, present. None of the doctors have felt like that for decades. They’ve been waiting anxiously, impatiently. The point of immortality is to live but they are just waiting expectantly. So here we go. Taking the plunge. Starting to live. Today is the first day of our immortal lives. 

The doctors cheer. They are ready. No more Phalasia. No more grappling. Serious knowledge and thought. A rich though monastic future is opening up to them.