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content/read/009.md

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-# Yared Zerezghi --- 2124
+# Michelle Hadje --- 2124
 
-> When one is uploaded, the only thing that is left behind is the body, and that in pieces. It is an uncomfortable, perhaps gruesome fact of the process, but unavoidable. The intellect, the emotions, and all that makes a person an individual are sent to that building (or compound, we don't know what it looks like) in the Sino-Russian Bloc and then they become a part of the System. We do not see what they see, and cannot, but we do talk to them. They are quite the talkative bunch, and they describe all sorts of wonders. The System is much like our sims but far, far more real. Realer than we could ever imagine. It is, I'm told, quite literally a dream world.
->
-> All of this --- the chatter from the System, the continuity of lives from here to there, the vibrancy of the place --- points to a collection of real, actual people. They may not have the bodies, but they are no less real, living, feeling, laughing, crying, joyful beings, and they deserve the recognition of their reality, their individuality.
->
-> I hear many arguments against their individual rights:
->
-> *"Because we cannot interbreed with them, they are a different species, and thus are not guaranteed the same rights."*
->
-> This is a crass and ridiculous idea. Of *course* we cannot interbreed, The chances of us interbreeding with a moth are more likely, as at least a moth has a body! However, if we see that their lives in the System are continuous progressions from the lives they lived here and they had inalienable rights here, then there must also be continuity of rights. Whether or not we can interbreed is nothing but a distraction.
->
-> *"They should have to pay for the power requirements for running their system."*
->
-> This argument carries weight when it is viewed from a strictly logical point of view. Running the System *does* cost money, and even if they have little need for money in there as they go about their day-to-day lives, perhaps they can to find a way to help subsidize that ability. I can think of a dozen ways off the top of my head even while writing this.
-> 
-> However, for the argument to be used as a reason that they must not have individual rights --- those of freedom, happiness, and access to necessities --- borders on the incomprehensible. When an individual is out of a job outside of the System, we do not simply strip away their rights on the spot! We must have the correct conversation, here, and this is just muddying the waters.
->
-> *"If they are essentially expert systems running on a computer, they should be treated as such and used to run expert systems out here."*
->
-> This is it, here. This is the worst of almost all of the myriad arguments that I've heard. This is the pillar of cynicism that everyone's inner sociopath leans against. This is the bit of us that says: if I cannot see it, it isn't worth the scantest thought. This is the bit that says: every individual must serve a tangible use in the world in order to exist. This is the bit that says: they deserve this because I am also a cog in this horrendous machine.
->
-> Humanity is, as ever, a race of cynics-at-heart, yet this approaches such a low as to turn the stomach. You would afford dogs and cats greater rights than those who we know for a fact can think and talk and feel and know. We know this because they *are* us.
->
-> Without compromising their identity, I can say that I have received a letter from two representatives of the Council of Eight, the leadership within the System, and on this we agree. They are alive, and because they are alive, they deserve the rights guaranteed those who are alive. They are individual, and so those rights must be individual. They can feel happiness, they know what it means to be free, and they are completely dependent on this one necessity, and so those rights afforded us must be granted them.
->
-> One of these representatives with whom I have been speaking is one of the lost. I know that the collective conscious moves quickly, and it's a lot to ask it to keep in mind a single incident from nigh on twelve years ago, but they are important. They were among the lost, those unlucky few trapped within their own minds and exocortices by the whims of tyranny, and when they were returned to our shared existence from their solipsistic one, they were among the voices campaigning for change from the very political systems who failed them and many others. As one of the lost, their experiences were integral to the creation of the System, and have been a part of it from the inside for almost a decade.
->
-> Their memories are real.
->
-> Their life is real.
->
-> Vote for the granting of rights. Vote yes on *referendum 10b30188*.
->
-> Yared Zerezghi (NEAC)
+Michelle Hadje mastered the urge to vomit.
 
-Yared submitted the post to the DDR forums and swiped his way out of the whole damn trash fire, feeling for that cool air on the back of his neck, backing out of his rig fast enough that he teetered on his chair.
+She knew that she could change this. Change all of these things from so many dreams that pressed in against her. She knew that she could will them away, or perhaps spring for a fork that would simply...not have them. She had enough reputation, by now, to fork a dozen times over. Some perks came with being on the council, after all.
 
-Every time he had to write something about this, every time he had to force himself to reiterate the arguments of others, it made him angry. Irrationally so.
+But she hadn't, and she was not quite sure why.
 
-He slung his bag over his shoulder, donned his cap, and stomped out of his apartment. He needed away from computers after something like that.
+At one point, she had entertained the idea that it was out of a need to keep some part of herself tied to the her of eight years ago, the panicked and wild-eyed woman who had scrimped and saved all that she could to get a one-way ticket into the System. Perhaps she needed to keep some tenuous connection to the Michelle left so changed by getting lost that year on year become madness on madness.
 
-Sunlight assailed him on the street. The view was as bright as ever, the weather as oppressively hot as always. He swayed for a moment as he struggled to acclimate, and once he was able, continued to stomp his way down the street to the coffee shop on the corner.
+But that wasn't quite it. Perhaps, instead, she felt as though she wasn't worth it. She hadn't been able to save her friends, not in the end, and it was only by dint of luck that she managed to survive the years after that terrible day her mind was wrapped in on itself, squeezed, stretched, knotted, and all her thoughts and all her dreams were mirrored back upon her. Perhaps she deserved these bouts of lingering disconnection, depression, dissociation, derealization, depersonalizeation.
 
-He could let his anger cool, but it felt too good to nurse it just a little while longer.
+That wasn't it either, though. She may sometimes feel the weight of responsibility, but thoughts as gloomy as that came only when she was feeling particularly peaky.
 
-His usual low stool was free, so he claimed that and sat to watch as the coffee was roasted, ground, boiled, strained, poured. Despite the urge to stoke that fury further, the meditative aspect of watching the coffee being prepared, the smell of it and the small cakes of himbasha, calmed him quickly.
+Lately, her best guess as to why she kept this madness draped around her was the slew of memories of RJ that hit her at unexpected intervals. She could feel em, sometimes, as a ghost, perhaps, or a wish, a dream, but then that feeling would disappear and she'd be left with despair and the urge to vomit and the flickering of herself.
 
-He was partway through his second cup and nibbling on his second slice of the sweet cardamom bread when another man sat down next to him. This would not normally be cause for concern, except for the fact that the man was wearing a suit. A *black* suit. This was not just incongruous, it was alarming in a place where the sun shone so hot.
+Michelle.
 
-Yared looked around, then spotted the black car parked down the cross street. Obviously that must have a cushy, air-conditioned interior, which would at least make the choice of clothing tolerable.
+Sasha.
 
-He nodded to the man, who nodded back, ordered three coffees, and waited.
+Michelle.
 
-Yared finished his coffee and reached out his hand to grip the contacts to pay for his coffee, but the man gently pressed his arm down.
+Sasha.
 
-"Please, allow me to purchase your coffee and food. Do you like the himbasha here?"
+That last hypothesis encompassed much of the previous two, and would explain why the looming tenth anniversary of the founding of the System seemed to make it all the worse. Ten years since the founding, eleven years since RJ disappeared, giving emself up to the act of creation.
 
-Frowning, he nodded. "It's quite good. May I ask why you're paying for me?"
+Ah well. She had lingered long enough outside the coffee shop, so she swallowed down her rising gorge and mastered a few waves of shifting form, skunk fur and human flesh fighting for dominance. The human form won today: round of face rather than mephit snout; curly, black hair rather than thick black fur. It would do. She would be Michelle for the meeting.
 
-"My passenger would like to meet with you," the man said, nodding over toward the car. "The coffees are for the three of us."
+The Council of Eight, for all its high status and demand, met in incognito in unassuming, downtempo sims rather than some conference room or grand palace. The eight of them would trickle into the sim over the course of a few hours, set up camp on a hilltop or in a cafe, enjoy the ambiance, and then set up a cone of silence to discuss business. They had been noticed once or twice, but never hounded and certainly not attacked.
 
-"With me?"
+Debarre and user11824 were there already, slouching before their coffees in comfortable silence. Both looked up and waved to her when she entered, so she requested a mocha and joined them around the table.
 
-"Yes, Mr. Zerezghi."
+"Hey Sa--er, Michelle. Hows tricks?" Debarre asked.
 
-Yared reached once more for the contacts to pay, hoping he could simply walk away from the situation, which was quickly moving from alarming to frightening, but his arm was once more gently pushed away. Instead, the man reached forward and let his implants connect with the contacts, the touch completing the payment.
+"Tricksy, as usual." She smiled wanly. "How about you two?"
 
-"I think I should leave, sir."
+user11824 shrugged. His features were nondescript to the point where Michelle doubted that he even needed to work at being incognito. Eyes simply slid over him without pausing. "Bored. Boring. Bored."
 
-"Please, stay. It is cool in the car, and we only wish to talk."
+"How are you bored? There's always too much to do." Laughter came from behind her, followed by a friendly touch to the shoulder. Jonas, on the other hand, was perilously handsome, well past the point of standing out, and friendly with a casual ease that left all feeling envious.
 
-"About what?"
+"Yeah. Boring shit."
 
-The coffee was poured into paper cups and the himbasha was slid into a paper packet.
+Jonas slid into the seat next to Michelle, coffee in hand. There were a few minutes amiable chatter as the other four octarchs trickled in: two well-dressed women, one well-dressed man, and one slouching form of indeterminate gender (and occasionally species) that looked more like a discarded pile of rags than anything.
 
-"Please, Mr. Zerezghi, this way."
+Michelle blinked, and a cone of silence spread around the table. The proprietor raised an eyebrow, but made no other move to acknowledge it.
 
-Yared remained seated. "You haven't answered my question, sir. About what?"
+"So," she began, rubbing her hands over her face. "I know we just had a meeting, so I am sorry for stealing you all again, but I have a thing to ask of you all. A question, for sure, but it may morph into a favor, depending on the answer."
 
-By way of answer, the man smiled, not unkindly, and said, "My passenger has read your post from this morning and was most impressed. Please, you may stand outside the car if that would make you feel better."
+"Boring one?" user11824 asked.
 
-Still frowning, Yared stood, nodded to the woman who had prepared the coffee and let the man in black lead him to the car.
+Michelle forced a tired chuckle and wobbled one of her hands over the table. "Maybe. Probably. Most things are boring to you."
 
-The man set the tray of coffees on the roof of the car, removed one and set a slice of himbasha on it, before opening the back door and handing the tray and other slices to the person inside.
+He rolled his eyes. More chuckles around the table.
 
-So incongruous was the context that Yared did not recognize him at first. The man was dressed much as he was, in loose white pants and a white shirt, but the clothing was much finer, with an elaborately embroidered neckline on the shirt, and spotless pants where his own were dusty and overdue for a wash.
+Swallowing down another wave of Sasha washing across her body, she continued. "I would like to create ten forks to delegate responsibility. Would that be okay?"
 
-Still, the face was unmistakable. "Councilor Demma?" he asked, voice small.
+Jonas frowned. "That'd be pretty expensive."
 
-"Mr. Zerezghi! The very one. Please! Come in and sit with me, and we can drink our coffees. They smell delightful."
+"Would it be worth the expenditure?" the pile of rags rasped.
 
-Yared stood at the door a moment longer, feeling the cool air against his face. His mind had gone blank. Any thought of the coffee, of the message earlier, was gone, and all he could think was, *What in the world does Yosef Demma want with me?*
+Michelle quelled the instinct to shrug again, nodding instead. "I think it would be. Just temporarily. At least for the next year or so. I will shift my role to a more managerial one, acting as consensus builder for my clade. I would not gain any more say in votes."
 
-A gentle hand on his shoulder from the driver urged Yared into the back of the car where he took a seat opposite Councilor Demma, who handed him his coffee and offered him the bag of himbasha, which he declined.
+"Would you take on additional responsibility, too?"
 
-"I suppose you've already eaten plenty, hmm? It does smell delicious. I rather like it when they put orange in it as well as the spices." He broke off a corner of the bread and set the rest aside. "I will get straight to business, Mr. Zerezghi, as I know that this is rather unexpected for you. We have been keeping tabs of your posts on the topic of individual rights on the DDR forums. Your voice is one of the loudest, most consistent, and most eloquent out of the whole system, and would like to work with you on those."
+"I can. I am always happy to do my share of the work, and if that share increases ten-fold while I shift to a consensus point, I will be okay with that."
 
-Yared coughed on a swallow of coffee. "You have been...watching me?"
+Debarre gave a lopsided smile. "If it's simply about more hands on the ground, I see no problem with it. It's your reputation to spend, and..." He hesitated, smile fading to a more serious expression, continuing, "And if it helps you out, then it's probably for the best. I'm sorry Michelle, but you look like hell."
 
-Councilor Demma laughed and waved his hand, chewing on his sweet bread. After swallowing, he said, "Do not worry, Yared. The NEAC Council is a political body, the DDR is a political entity, so of course we monitor the forums. We are monitoring everybody, not monitoring you specifically. Except, of course, in as much as you are a part of that everybody."
+She forced herself to keep tears out of her voice. "I feel like hell, if I am honest. I will ensure none of the forks have...all this."
 
-"But you came for me, sir."
+Nods around the table. A woman from the well-dressed trio spoke up. "I'm comfortable answering your question with a 'yes'."
 
-"That we did. Your posts have attracted our attention. They are quite well written, very well researched, and the information you have by virtue of your relationship with your two companions is invaluable. We --- that is, the interests in the council that I represent on this topic --- feel that you would be a useful aid in reaching our goals."
+They went around the table, and none of the others challenged the first vote. Michelle slouched in relief, letting her control slacken and her form blur for a few moments.
 
-"And what goals are those?"
+"Does that answer mean that you have a favor to ask?"
 
-Councilor Demma smiled in a way that did not exactly instill confidence. "Individual rights and autonomy of the System."
+She nodded to Debarre. "A two-part favor. I would like some help delegating to my forks, if we even have ten things that need doing, and then I would like a week off."
 
-Yared blinked, frowned, and took the few seconds offered by a sip of his coffee to work up the courage to ask, "Autonomy?"
+Jonas laughed. "You're allowed a vacation, Michelle. Go for it. I'm sure we can all find something for your new clade. The Hadje Clade?"
 
-"We are like you, Yared. We desire that the uploaded individuals maintain individual rights. Our dreams are perhaps a little bigger, is all. You fight for their rights, but we fight for their independence."
+"The Ode Clade."
 
-"How can they be independent. Aren't they a part of the S-R Bloc? Those who upload have to get a visa, even if only for a few hours, before they join the System."
+Debarre stiffened in his seat, frowned. Michelle did her best to maintain her tired mien, keeping her gaze on Jonas.
 
-"Yes, but it is dual citizenship!" the councilor said, stabbing his finger toward Yared. "They remain citizens of the Western Fed or of the Northeast African Coalition or wherever they are from. They essentially only have a visa for the S-R Bloc. If they are our citizens, they must still have the rights we grant them. That is your argument, yes?"
+"No clue what that means, but hey, Michelle-slash-Sasha of the Ode Clade it is."
 
-Yared nodded numbly.
+"Do we applaud? Is this exciting?" user11824 asked. He looked honestly befuddled, and Michelle admitted that she could use a life so bound by boredom that excitement could go unnoticed.
 
-"We, like you, wish to protect those rights, but we want to grant them even more. We want to grant them their independence."
+"It's exciting for me. I get to sleep in."
 
-The import of Councilor Demma's request struck him like a blow to the stomach. "You...you want to help them secede?"
+Laughter around the table.
 
-The man across from him smiled and finished his coffee, setting it aside before taking another bite of the himbasha. "This is quite good, Mr. Zerezghi. I will have to remember this place."
+The pile of rags shifted, rasping its words. "Are we comfortable with this as a general rule? Perhaps we would all benefit from a fork here and there to help us out."
 
-Yared frowned at the non sequitur.
+"Can we come up with a mechanism for tracking hands on the ground, as you so eloquently put it?"
 
-"This is not something that they have in the System. They do not have delicious coffee and delicious desserts. Neither do they have hamburgers or Sichuan noodles. They have none of the same stuff as us, as crude or as plain or as beautiful as it may be. They don't have the same stuff that makes our societies what they are. They have their own society-stuff. They have their own world and their own customs.
+Michelle nodded eagerly to the sharp dressed man. "Please. It is not my intention to take more work just so we can do more things my way."
 
-"Have you heard about the way that they can make copies of themselves and become two individuals? It is fascinating to me. They call those collections of individuals clades, because they can form a branching tree of personalities. Wonderful! Can you imagine the culture that must spring up around that? Are clades families? Do they fight like siblings? Culture has sprung up around our coffee, our himbasha, our *stuff*, and it certainly does not involve these clades of theirs."
+"And we'll have to be careful not to overextend our reach. There being only the eight of us kind of limits our capabilities by necessity."
 
-The councilor was intensely charismatic. The argument made sense, too, and a part of him was ready to dive in head-first if it would accomplish his goals. The rest of him prevailed, though, and he asked, "But where do I come into this?"
+"We can be open about it, set limits for ourselves. Maybe no more than ten per council member."
 
-"Excellent question." That disconcerting smile again. "All we would like you to do is continue on your campaign for individual rights now. However, we would like to suggest some small changes to your arguments, just little nudges here and there. They will not start right away, but soon, we would like you to shift the language you use. We have confidence that individual rights will be granted, but we want the way primed for what comes after."
+"It might be handy to fork further for personal reasons down the line," Michelle said, carefully avoiding Debarre's gaze. "I can think of a hundred things I would like to do."
 
-"Confidence?"
+The weasel's frown deepened.
 
-The councilor tapped his temple. "We keep an eye on the forums, remember? We keep our finger on the pulse of the DDR. I also have the interests that I represent, and I have confidence in them."
+"Sounds fair enough. I figure we've all got personal lives outside this," one of the women said.
 
-"You just want me to campaign as I usually do, but subtly suggest that the System should secede?"
+"Yeah, boring ones."
 
-"Ideas grow organically, Mr. Zerezghi, but they all start from a seed. You are ideally placed to be that seed, both for the DDR and for the Council of Eight."
+"You're such a drag. Take up fishing or something. Then you can be bored with purpose."
 
-Yared sat up straighter. "Oh, so not just the DDR, but also the System?"
+"I've got a stack and a half of trashy novels to plow through."
 
-Councilor Demma nodded, still smiling. "There is nothing you need to do yet, but let us meet up for coffee again, yes? Perhaps here, again, in two days time? I would love to make these chats over coffee a regular part of our schedules."
+"There's some changes I've been meaning to make. Maybe I can even figure out how to make it like a real demolition process, too. Putting a sledgehammer through drywall? Exquisite. Simply exquisite."
 
-"Can I take those two days to think on it?"
+The chatter continued around the table. Michelle focused on her mocha, studiously avoiding Debarre's searching gaze.
 
-That smile faltered only briefly but was quickly replaced. "Of course, Yared, I understand that this is a large request to make of you. All the same, I do hope that you will agree to join us. Much is resting on this venture."
+The cone of silence was dropped, and council members left at their own pace until only Michelle, Jonas, and Debarre left.
 
-At some unseen signal, the car door was opened from the outside. The meeting, it seemed, was at an end, and he was back on the street, back in the brightness and heat, watching the car disappear around a corner.
+"So, what's the deal with the clade name? And why are you two being so weird around each other?" Jonas asked.
 
+There was a moment's silence, then Debarre murmured, "You tell him."
+
+"A friend of mine --- of ours --- wrote this poem, an ode, and I was thinking that I would name the instances after lines from it. A hundred lines, ten stanzas. That gives me ten first lines to start with, and I can go from there."
+
+Jonas shrugged. "Well, fair enough, if strange. You didn't answer why you two got all weird, though."
+
+"Complicated stuff. Both Michelle and--"
+
+"We were both among the lost," she interrupted, shooting Debarre a warning glance.
+
+Jonas held his hands up to forestall further conversation. "This is between you two. You can share what you want when you've got it sorted out."
+
+Debarre nodded sullenly. Michelle looked down at her hands.
+
+"While we're on complicated subjects, I have an admission to make." Jonas looked sheepish. "I have a small clade of my own on the side. All for personal stuff, of course, nothing tied to the Council."
+
+Debarre tilted his head, then laughed. It was an earnest laugh, full-throated, and Michelle`realized that Jonas had said precisely the right thing to cut through the tension.
+
+"Do you have some equally stupid clade name?" Michelle said, grinning.
+
+"Oh, just the Jonas Clade. I'm going to keep forking as long as I have reputation, I figure, so we've been naming ourselves with syllables. There's plenty enough of those. I'll stay Jonas Prime, but there's already a Ku, Ar, and Re Jonas."
+
+"Fucking nerd."
+
+Jonas batted his eyes at Debarre. "Thank you. I try."
+
+After a bit more chatter, Debarre made his goodbyes and left the sim.
+
+Michelle and Jonas tacitly agreed to go for a walk down the street. The sim was of a comfortable, small town plaza, so it was a pleasant enough walk. They made their way to a central fountain and, while Jonas sat on the rim and watched, Michelle dumped hunk after hunk of reputation to create her ten forks. They alternated between looking like Michelle and looking like Sasha. Each introduced herself in turn.
+
+"I Am At A Loss For Images In This End Of Days of the Ode Clade."
+
+"Life Breeds Life But Death Must Now Be Chosen."
+
+"Oh, But To Whom Do I Speak These Words."
+
+And on down the list of first lines. Eventually, a crowd of eleven stood near the fountain, in front of a bemused Jonas.
+
+"So, what next?"
+
+"What is next is that I get assignments from the Council and then take a fucking vacation. I plan on sleeping for at least three days straight."
+
+Jonas laughed. "I wholeheartedly endorse this course of action. One of you want to take on an assignment today?"
+
+After a short conversation, one of the skunks stepped forward. "Sure. What kind of assignment?"
+
+"Which one are you again?"
+
+"The Only Time I Know My True Name Is When I Dream."
+
+Jonas winced. "Got something shorter I can call you? Even if only in informal settings?"
+
+She laughed. "Oh, sure. Let us go with 'True Name'."
+
+"Much better! Alright, your assignment is to work with me on the individual rights conversation."
+
+"Is that heating up?"
+
+"Yeah, there's some real grade-A stupidity going on out there." Jonas paused to wave to the rest of the Ode Clade, which left the sim *en masse*. "Lots of this and that about how software can't be an individual blah blah blah. One particularly vile shithead suggested that if we wanted to be treated as individuals, we would need to contribute to society as equals with those still in the embodied world. He suggested we could split the System and dump individuals into flight computers and software rigs and other expert systems to run those so that they wouldn't have to keep designing them."
+
+True Name frowned. "What a dick. Is that kind of opinion common out there? I am still coming off the mountain of work that was the reputation market."
+
+"Not so common now, but those voices are getting louder by the week."
+
+"Damn."
+
+"Damn indeed. Thankfully, those aren't the only voices. The DDR still has a good number of folks who remember the lost and just how fucked up it was for whole-ass people to be dumped into nothingness, and that sounds awfully similar to becoming a glorified flight sim."
+
+"But that is on the DDR. Do we get votes? Do we even have access?"
+
+"We do not, no. All we can do is read the forums. What we do have is the ability to communicate."
+
+"Influence, you mean."
+
+Jonas smiled, nodded. "Influence."
+
+"I did pretty well in debate class."
+
+"Good, we'll have need of that. And you can write, too. Your proposals are a thing of beauty."
+
+"Oh? A joy for ever? Their loveliness increases?"
+
+Jonas looked blank.
+
+True Name laughed. "Never mind. Let us go change some minds."