HUMANITY 2.0
YEAR 001, DAY 007
I remember, when I was young and in the old world, how we used to carefully isolate "pornography" from other literature. We could have a novel; it could be adventure, romance, sci-fi, whatever - or - it could be porno. Back then, anything with good sex in it was called porno. Now here, I'm selfishly writing my autobiography so the future generations will have to put up with their great-grandfather's rambling on about the old days even if I'm not around... had my life story been published back then, somehow, there's no doubt in my mind that it would have been classed as 'pornography'.
Occasionally, as I write out in detail what wonderful sex I had with this girl or the other, because the story wouldn't be complete without it -- it occurs to me that, in the era I was born into, this would put my life story, or just about any of our modern literature, on the same shelf as the most mindless fuck-fest you can imagine, had it been sold in the time of my youth. Nobody would question that back then. It was just 'How Things Are'. Or 'Were', in this case.
It's yet those moments, and times we just let love for each other become something physical -- they define our lives so much. We think of it constantly, each for our own reasons, but we dwell on it all the time in our minds regardless. Nowadays, we understand sex not as simply procreation or recreation -- it's communication. There's information that can be expressed by two people having sex that can't be communicated any other way. Doubly true for basically all the rest of you, with your electrophoridae... only you can really describe what that's like, unfortunately. I'm never know the full extent of it.
The overwhelming bulk of you don't really think of this shift as being part of our culture at all, to you it's just always been how it is now. It's mainly those of us who were around in the old world, we know... and we appreciate just how far our society has come, how much easier it is for us to just be when we don't lack for the most basic satisfaction a person can have. Compared to the old world -- it's, as was said back then, night and day.
Forge ahead even when it seems useless. It's only when you get a few hundred years on you, like I have - and then some - that you'll begin to appreciate how far my... our... people have come.
Anyway, ummm... right. I was on the yacht. Wish I still had that thing... I had been sailing for about a day, mostly just watching the waves and thinking. Not about any kind of grand design or the society to come, or whatever, mind you -- I was scheming. What would I tell people? I had been gone for six days already, and it would be more than twenty before I was back.
The Experimenter had covered my tracks when it came to the university; she somehow managed to get them to give me a hardship withdrawal due to a "family emergency". She hadn't, however, furnished a good excuse to tell those who knew me, for why I would have disappeared for over three weeks right in the middle of exams.
On the second day, I checked my email. It was mostly class stuff, but there were nine emails from Emily. They started out concerned about my hospital visit, then confused when she got to Sacramento and wasn't able to find me anywhere. The tone of the emails grew increasingly frantic, then suddenly switched to straight-up rage -- after she apparently met up with Dr. Lazar. I grimaced.
Oh, boy. I really hoped they hadn't spoken long. My sister knew well how bad I was around girls; she made fun of me all the time for it. It didn't help that I wasn't much better around her... I'd never told her what a crush I had on her when we were young. With both our parents functionally out of the picture, she'd taken it upon herself to bug me every time we spoke about whether I'd found a girlfriend. If the good doctor told her even a little bit of what happened between us, Emily would immediately think I had gone off the deep end.
I couldn't explain to her that I had inadvertently used the power the Experimenter gave me on the doctor, the one that made me... or more specifically, one part of me... irresistible to most women that felt even a speck of attraction to me. I never asked the Experimenter how long the pheromone effect lasted, or if it had side effects -- but that instance had apparently not even been its complete form anyway, so who knew what would happen. It would be a couple months, actually, until I really understood that little gift she gave me and how careful I had to be with it.
Sooner or later, I would have to get back in contact with people. Unless I planned to simply disappear and never come back to Sacramento at all, I was going to have to see Emily, Dr. Lazar, and anyone else who lived there. It would be better if I got a hold of them now, I thought, rather than waiting until three weeks later and simply reappearing. I hoped nobody had already filed a missing person report or something, that would make things difficult when I got back -- particularly if they decided to look at my bank account or noted my sudden ownership of a fancy new yacht.
I'd left my cell phone back at home, but I supposed it wouldn't have done me any good on the island or out on the open ocean anyway. While I'm hardly the engineer that Sasha or Wren are, even back then I had certainly spent more than my share of time goofing off on the internet and playing with computers. It didn't take me long to set up the thing to act as a phone. For those who didn't pay enough attention in history class, back then computers and telecommunications technology were... sort of, anyway... separate things. It was only about five years later that the two started to truly merge.
I was struck by a thought that brought me down pretty low a few minutes into my task -- I didn't actually remember my own sister's phone number. Everything had been stored on my phone, and every time I'd upgraded they'd just transferred all my contacts for me. I tried looking it up, but it was no good... I sighed and finished out the task.
I had left the business card Dr. Lazar had given me at home, which had her cell number on it -- but by my math, it was just about 5 in the afternoon back in Sacramento right then, so I figured I may possibly be able to catch her in her office. I gave it a ring, and got voicemail. Damn. I called the hospital main line, and asked after her; they transferred me to the administrative office, and suddenly I was on the phone with some bored-sounding guy.
"You said you were Benedict Stanton?"
"That's me...." I'd given my name right off the bat, then he'd asked me the purpose of my call and a bunch of other routine questions. I had, at the least, thought up half-convincing lies for all of that. Now, he suddenly took on a different, alert tone.
"There's a note here to have you forwarded to Dr. Lazar right away if you call."
I shook my head, like the guy could see it. "I already tried her office. She isn't in."
"Dr. Lazar is... on leave." The tone he gave the words made my heart sink. I knew a polite lie when I heard one. She was suspended, or had already been fired... and it was my fault. He droned on. "Right, here it is. I have a note here to put a Benedict Stanton through to her cell right away if you call. Transferring..."
