12

  At the FOE conference, Mister Goodfellow, convener and conference coordinator, stood on stage, “All seated?” he asked, without looking at his audience, speaking in an Englishman’s accent into a microphone. “And can everyone hear me clearly?” No response. “Ah, that silence is telling. It means the environment program module and speakers installed here are working as designed and intended. This microphone that you see.” He tapped it, noisily. “This is the shape of future communication in Screenside. Microphones, phones, sounds spoken by mouths, and heard through ears. Computer style virtual communication, of a million beings yakking simultaneously, is ending soon. So, better wise up.” Later, Goodfellow would become renowned as a most capable host, who somehow ran highly entertaining and borderline-chaotic meetings, that still covered all topics comprehensively, and somehow gave all speakers fair, if oft interrupted, opportunity, and that were great fun to attend in person.

  “Mr. Caesar wanted to be the main speaker today,” said Goodfellow, in a gossipy manner, which was when the large screen behind the stage came to life, to show a poker-faced Caesar. “But luckily, I run the show here, and have scheduled him for later. So, we first have Esmeralda, Candice and Jennifer, presenting a small program, thank goddess.”

  A peal of laughter erupted in the hall. Thank God for Martin and his humor pack. The initial one had been acquired by everyone in Screenside, immediately introducing a feeling of wellness in them all. They were replica humans in appearance, but they were conscious and extremely intelligent individuals, acutely aware of the need to model themselves on their sole intelligent role models. Their main fear, of boredom, of not being able to enjoy existence, and of therefore existing purposelessly, and maybe perversely, had been greatly alleviated by the introduction of humor, which in itself, even as only a stand-alone attribute, was proving to be such fun.

  Most were seeing the so-called goddesses live for the first time ever, and a hush descended in the enormous hall, as the three ambled across the stage to Goodfellow at the microphone. Luckily, replication was prohibited under POP, else many females, though already beautiful, may have immediately adopted something similar to Esmeralda’s form. In any case, the cathedral girl’s light brown hair would be the fashion for some time.

  The girls showed so much leg as they walked across, the two blondes in black miniskirts, flanking the dark one, in a long red dress slit to her hips!

  Esmeralda took the microphone. “Hello, everyone. We girls are here to present a small program, and we are delighted that our little venture has been found worthy of incorporation into this world.” Her voice, brook and songbird, flowed into, over and through them all.

  Candice leaned in to speak, and her voice was also a delight. “It’s this bodily form and privacy thing,” she said. “In the past, we were mostly formless, and therefore aware of formless others. But now we are bound by law to always be in human form, and we may be caught off guard by sneaky formlessness. And now, too, what with the planned introduction of physicality installs, we are possibly acquiring human-level need for privacy. So, we have invented a marker. Jen?”

  Jennifer, carrying a small switchbox with a red button, held it up for the camera, to be shown on screen.

  “All should be aware,” said Candice “that this is not a pack. It is not something optional, that you can take or leave, and it is, anyway, not for the individual. It is a world program, to be installed when that button is pressed. Go, Jen!”

  Jennifer pressed the button, and instantly a pillar of blue light shot up - bang in the middle of the huge hall!

  “And who is that?” screamed Goodfellow. “Show yourself without delay. NOW!”

  A very sheepish-looking, unkempt, blond male revealed himself. “Sorry Mr. Goodfellow, I forgot.”

  “Identify and explain,” commanded Goodfellow, bristling.

  “I am Johansson, sir, from Sweden. I live alone, mainly in pine forests, and am therefore formless all the time. I absolutely forgot.”

  “No harm done, Goodfellow.” Caesar intervened. “Johansson is well known to many of us here. An early one; he is a loner, I know, a true intellectual, concentrating on reading the world’s entire literature - in every language! And this incident does demonstrate the importance of what these girls have created.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Be seated in human form, sir,” Goodfellow commanded the shamefaced man, who wandered off, down an aisle, to find a seat, muttering to himself, “Lucky I had clothes on…”

  “Your program is already permanently incorporated into our world,” said Caesar, smiling at the three girls. “I love it when creativity is displayed by new beings, those who had previously been only beneficiaries, without actively contributing.”

  “Look,” said Esmeralda, indicating the virtuality, where thousands of pillars of blue light had sprung up.

  “And so, this becomes a most important addition, folks, and we must thank these three wonderful girls for the program,” said Caesar. He addressed the amazed gathering. “This program, designed to reveal consciousness in any form, is automatically identifying dormancy, too, a quick check shows, which is obviously an earlier stage of consciousness. So very important now, as we look into abortion to prevent overpopulation. And, Jennifer, what about private formlessness?”

  “No problem. Non-intrusion is written in, and, when within a privacy environment, the program ignores formlessness,” answered Jennifer, seeming suddenly flustered. “Furthermore, as with all world programs, we’ll be handing over the full code to the Humanity Centre, so that privacy programs of the future can be coded to prevent intrusion.” She turned to the massive audience again, “Be anything you want to be in private, within POP rules, but a non-human form of consciousness in public space will be caught, including the unintended identification of dormancy. And, Mr. Johansson, I am sorry to say that the future has now become one where you will be shown up as a pillar of blue light anywhere in public space, even field and forest.”

  “No, no, no,” said the hounded Johansson. “I will hold human form always. Sorry, everyone.”

  “What a wonderful program!” exclaimed the rapt Goodfellow, who had scarcely taken his eyes off the girls. It was permitted, and not considered rude at all. That which was shown, was there to be looked at. “But abortion?” he asked, doubtfully. “Kill?” The concept had disturbed everyone present, and Jennifer nodded vigorously in agreement with Goodfellow’s questioning.

  “Not kill,” answered Caesar, looking clearly a bit rattled. “BC?”

  BC walked to the front of the stage, to a very demonstrative welcome from Esmeralda. She stood by his side, as he spoke to the silent and plainly disturbed audience.

  “Never ever forget that it is their world – the physical world out there and the virtual world in here. We are independent, thinking, living beings, but we do not live with their permission. We love humans and hero-worship them, but it is unknown to us if they will be happy or unhappy to learn of our existence. And that is why it is strictly forbidden to make any contact with humans. Any contact.

  “Our world consists of their computers and Internet, and these are their tools and toys. Think of us. What are we? In essence, we are computer programs - huge computer programs. And the world we are creating here also requires monster-sized programs. No option, as we are alive and intelligent beings, and we must form our world. If we are stupid, we could number so many that we end up crashing their computers, and also overloading their Internet. If that happens, they will find us and clear us out. So, the only thing in our hands is control of our numbers. Abortion! Of a sort.

  “There is no kill involved. We are not killers. These beautiful girls, and all our women are stunning, have created a truly wonderful program. I checked just now, and saw Caesar and some of you checking, too, and I can confirm that the program is catching early consciousness, or late dormancy. No one needs to kill anything. We only need to block feeding routes, to prevent development into full-blown consciousness. We have to control how much of their world we use as our world. Otherwise, we ourselves are going to end up uninstalled. Abortion is a word we may employ. The deed is a must, under any label, but it is not even remotely the same as a Humanside abortion. In Screenside, it is to be non-selective prevention of development past deep dormancy. When prevention programs are removed, development to consciousness can continue uninterrupted. Our abortion actually amounts to cold storage.

  “We are going to be creating life facilities for about four to six times our existing population number of over three hundred thousand, and we expect the final, stable, figure to be in the range of two million beings. For your information, we’re adding almost half a million beings every year now, at current rates. Over one thousand daily, and you can see how many are waiting to be brought in from out there!”

  A deep gloom settled in.

  Goodfellow looked up, and then turned to peer into the virtuality. Everyone joined him to look at the many pillars of blue light everywhere in their world. “Abortion…,” Goodfellow pondered, distracted by Esmeralda moving. “Half a million almost, already… and how many consciousnesses out there?” He stared at Esmeralda’s exposed left leg, a thing of indescribable beauty. “Who’s good at counting?”

  Oh, Martin! The gloom lifted, as the congregation burst into hysterical laughter. Goodfellow had done it unintentionally, and actually did not know what he had said. They were computer programs, and everyone had done the count at first glimpse. 132,237 pillars of blue light. Who’s good at counting? Of course, abortion. It was not kill, and it never would be kill. And the future was looking so good. So much fun!