They told us we were defying nature, playing God. We replied that we were not simply playing at it – we were building God.
As the car rolled up to Global Central, I saw protesters surrounding the doors. The group had enlarged over the past few weeks, but all the regulars were still in there. I had gotten so that I could even recognize some of them, would notice when they changed signs. When they saw my car, they all surged forward, yelling obscenities. I smirked. With all their holier-than-thou attitudes, they certainly didn’t seem to uphold to their mighty values when it came to language. The guards shoved the people back as I stepped out of the car to be escorted to the building entrance.
One of the mosquito-like protestors (their voices had a tinny, whining drone that I found particularly irritating) managed to squeeze her way between some of the guards, straight into our path. “You should be ashamed,” she screeched, “trying to convince our children that free will doesn’t exist.” I paused and looked at her. Even her face resembled an insect – overly large forehead, tiny chin, her large eyes wide with determination.
I scoffed. “Free will? Free will is an inability to predict the future. No one’s stopping you from living in your ignorance. I’m not responsible for what you teach your children.” The reporters in the crowd had shoved microphones between us and I hurried off, knowing it was one more quote for the papers. I would have to make up for that little slip-up later. The protesters had resumed screaming behind me, but as I stepped through the glass doors of Global Central, the doors automatically closed and locked behind me and muffled the roar. I smiled my gratitude at the security guards who stayed at the door to guard it against the more adventurous reporters or protesters.
As most people had learned over the last few years, I defied the typical stereotype of a scientist. If it was a demure woman in a flapping lab coat and high heels you were after, you would have to look elsewhere. My boots squeaked against the freshly waxed floor as I strode toward the Global Modeling section of the building – GM for short. Of course, nowadays most people had renamed GM the “God Machine.” Although I would never publically endorse the nickname, I had to admit it was rather fitting. Over every doorway, the number 99.999% flickered in red and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride at the numbers. So close, so close.
My first stop for the morning was the computer interface. It was deep inside the building, through a long elevator ride and a maze of hallways. Only a few people had access, but I wasn’t surprised to find the room already swarming with several of the others. With so little time left until the computer went “live,” most of us were working nearly 24/7 on the final preparations. “How’s everything looking?” I asked the man tapping on the screen.
He started and jumped away from the screen, ushering me toward it. “Fine, fine, Ms. Riese. Just running the morning calibrations on the new data. Everything seems to be going smoothly.” I nodded. Ugh, Ms. Riese. I hated that name even more than the ones the protesters called me.
“That’s fine, go ahead.” As he stepped back toward the screen, I could see his hands trembling. “And really, you can call me Catharine.” He nodded, but I knew he never would. None of them would. Frustrated, I left the room, greatly aware of the huge amount of space the others gave me. They resembled a crowd of squirrels – just keep a 5 foot distance and you’ll be fine. Chatter away once the danger has turned its back.
I headed to my own office where I knew no one would dare venture unless something catastrophic occurred. As I switched on my own personal computer to watch the day’s preparations from a distance, the phone rang. My mother’s face popped up on the screen. Ah, of course. Today would be an anxious day for her as well. I
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