Amygdala Hijack - A Genetic Engineering Sci-Fi Novel of Impending Dystopia: Predictable Paths, #3

By Blade Cort

A golden obelisk crash-lands on a Saskatchewan farm and warns of an impending alien invasion. Searching for silver linings, science podcaster Peter Scott and his small team are elated at this event and hope the new existential threat might improve their sagging ratings. They capitalize on growing fears of invasion by interviewing experts with unorthodox solutions to defend Earth. 
But 2037 is no ordinary year. DNA is just another programming language, and CRISPR-centric, body-altering tech is now a plaything for the masses. Humans are hybridizing at breakneck speed, sporting subdermal chips, animal traits, and flesh-metal integrations. While this radical new tech spins off the rails, society convulses violently as biases and hatreds escalate between humans and hybrids. 
Conservatives vs. Progressives; Majorities vs. Minorities; Humans vs. Hybrids, and now Humanity vs. Aliens...where will it all end?
Yet alien marauders and social disruptions aren't the only challenges. Shadowy forces are threatening to kill the podcast – or the team. Is there any hope of escaping their dire predicament?

 

5 Stars***** Imminent Future, or Imminent Extinction? A fascinating leap into the imminent future...when Genetic Engineering and Genetic Modification have advanced astronomically (Goodreads Reviews).

 

PREDICTABLE PATHS episodes, in sequential order:

#1. AGENESS - A Longevity / Age Engineering Science Fiction Play on Our Imminent Ageless Dystopia ; Six Acts, Episodes -22 to -17

#2. CLIMATIC - A Climate and Genetic Engineering Science Fiction Novel; Episodes -16 to -2

#3. AMYGDALA HIJACK - A Genetic Engineering Sci-Fi Novel of Impending Dystopia (a Trilogy) 

  3.1 - Amygdala Hijack - The Waening, Part 1 of 3; Episodes 1 - 9

  3.2 - Amygdala Hijack - The Warning, Part 2 of 3; Episodes 10 - 18

  3.3 - Amygdala Hijack - The Wasting, Part 3 of 3; Episodes 19 - 28

#4. THREE GUYS IN A POST-APOCALYPTIC BAR - A Longevity / Age Engineering and Genetic Engineering Sci-Fi Novella ; Episodes 47 - 54

#5. INFINITY CURVE - Lamentations to Unseen Friends Across the Vastness of Space ; Episodes 56 - 78

#6. PATH TO ENTROPY - An Apocalyptic Climax ; Episodes 79 - 93

#7. SORD IN PROSPERITY - Hope Beyond the Apocalypse ; Episodes 118 - 159

#8 . DAISY THE DUMPSTER DOG - A Sordid Tale of Dystopian Hubris and Convenient Canine Rationalizations (But Not a Supreme Court Satire or Parody) ; Episodes 311 - 337

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blade Cort
• Release date: Apr 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201218331

Blade Cort

Blade Cort writes Age Engineering and Longevity Science Fiction as well as Genetic Engineering Science Fiction novels and plays that are mercilessly littered with pedantic discourse, pointless diatribes, and persistent droning about humanity's pervasive derelictions. The pulp drivel exhumed from his keyboard is as terrifying and graceless as overcooked cafeteria peas. Visit https://www.bladecort.com.

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AMYGDALA HIJACK

Copyright © 2022 by Blade Cort

All rights reserved. No part of this publication or any elements from it may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including but not limited to photocopying; recording; digitization or tokenization of characters, scenes, or any other components; or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Permission requests should be provided electronically to the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, dialog, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental. References to any products or services are not an endorsement and are only intended to develop storyline and context.

First Edition 2019

Revised 2022

TRILOGY SECTIONS

1: THE WAENING – PRESCIENT MOMENTS

2: THE WARNING – TAUNTING THE BEAST

3: THE WASTING – DESCENT TO THE CATACLYSM

AMYGDALA HIJACK PART 1: THE WAENING

PRESCIENT MOMENTS

Also as an auto-narrated audiobook

Copyright 2019 by Blade Cort

EPISODE 1 – LAST DAYS

TO MY LOYAL LISTENERS.

Peter’s left hand was shaking as he adjusted the old sound mixer. He was unaccustomed to this – thinking about what he would say while managing the audio engineering that Molli always handled.

Molli, he interjected with a moan, finding it hard to grasp he was back on air. Forgive the sound quality. She’s not here, and perhaps not with us at all. I’m having to go it alone on this freezing Cambridge morning in late October 2037. This podcast is live and being stored or played out on a server somewhere, I hope. Storage is a thing for future uses and likely matters no longer to no human; well, possibly alien archivers, assuming they ever get here. To those of you with grid power who still retain an Internet connection, you can guess what I’m about to say – but please stick with me through this last show of our series.

A lamp crashed behind him, and he spun around to be sure nobody was entering his garage studio. He apologized.

Sorry about that. Shaky ground here with buildings coming down. You understand all too well.

He stopped for a moment, noticing his hand smeared a streak of crimson across the mixer. Crap, I’m bleeding somewhere, or it’s someone else’s blood. I can’t tell any longer.

Reaching for Molli’s beloved red spiral binder, he opened it to her final entry.

I appreciate those of you who sent in questions and comments from prior calls. Molli wrote them down, and I’ll try to get to them if I’m not rudely interrupted.

He turned his leather swivel chair to the side and closed his eyes, then forced himself back to the microphone.

You’ve been the greatest fans to me and to my friends come and gone, like Molli and Ears. Loved that guy. Lost another love yesterday to radicalized mechs, as if there’s any other kind. But we who still breathe have lost many.

Tears streamed down his face and plopped onto the desk.

I’ll do the best I can despite a world boiled like a Fenway Frank in utter death and disarray. This is my last podcast and likely one of the last podcasts of humankind. Yesterday, I streamed the other final interviews from our series – Brokers, Hats, and Stoicholic. They’re playing on any server I could find that was still working, or they’re lost in the ether that was humanity’s voice. Either way, it was a great four years before it unraveled, and I’d be nowhere without you. You were my sustenance and kept me going. But I’ll make it through. As my grandma used to say: ‘Buckle down, face the cold wind, pitch your last pitch and make it a fastball.’

He clicked on his tablet to run the Uncovering Science Podcast ten-second lead-in jingle.

That’s the last time we’ll be forced to suffer the stupid guitar riff Molli liked. Her old boyfriend made it, the idiot. Well, at least he’s likely gone, too. You don’t hit a woman, ever, but then, I suppose all the idiots are dead or soon will be.

The jingle stopped, and there was a moment of silence.

I’ll start from the top like I used to do, as if nothing is different about this day. So here we go.

Grabbing his sweat-stained Red Sox cap, Peter placed it brim-backward on his balding head, then took a deep breath.

Hello fans of all things science and tech! This is the Uncovering Science Podcast with your host Peter Scott, and today we will discuss the end of the world and how we got here.

He emitted an accidental laugh that emerged from somewhere below his diaphragm.

What was that old song from the late 1990s? Something about this being the end of the world as we know it? I can’t recall. Please bear with me. I need to take a swig.

He reached for an uncapped, half-full water bottle.

Water in disposable plastic containers. Freaking reminder of our throwaway mentality. Humanity is impermanent. The water survives in some form, and the plastic disperses and disintegrates over eons. I think it was episode twenty-something. What I’d give to return back to that time and those all-too-simple problems of mankind’s Earthly abuses and aberrations.

Peter turned again to check the door from his garage to the house, ensuring that nobody was trying to enter, and his eyes scanned the chrome bolt lock to confirm it was in place. He loved this makeshift studio. It was his parents’ home, where he had grown up. They were in Minnesota – perhaps alive, probably dead. So many were dead, and it wouldn’t stop.

Sections of the acoustic foam he had recently reapplied to the garage door were falling down, exposing the insulation underneath. He thought momentarily about repairing it.

Dropping his head, he uttered, I may die here, and it could be today. Worse yet, I may get no warning. Whatever it is, whatever of the myriad plagues released, I doubt I’ll survive them much longer. I’m not special. Ducked the blade one too many times. Being in this city I loved so long, I hate to admit that it is not my treasured place as it once was.

Unconcerned about the sound quality, he pushed the pop filter aside.

Unlike my other podcasts, there are no guests today. It’s not that they wouldn’t come if they could. They can’t participate when they’re dead or unable to travel without the imminent threat of death. The fact that the power is on in Cambridge is a miracle, or that I can ping the server network and find it’s still up. The resilience they built into these backbones, all the way to the network endpoints, is amazing. Kudos to those power and network engineers who imagined such a versatile system, whether wired or wireless. You’ve got to love them for creating something that will outlast the humans that made it.

Peter stopped again and stared longingly at the newspaper cutout on his wall that read, ‘Obelisk crash-lands on Saskatchewan farm – the Waening from an Alien Race?’ It was almost funny then. The editors were so flustered to report on this revelation, they forgot to use spellcheck on the heading. He shuddered at what had transpired since that day.

I’ll do this podcast, but I can’t guarantee you it won’t abruptly end, as every end is unpleasant and unplanned these days. Without Molli to help me prepare, without my usual guests to interview, I’m lost on how to begin.

He peered again at the blood on his hand, reminding him to check to see if he was injured by his latest run-in. Peter pulled up his red plaid shirt, one of his favorites, fingers searching for the cold, thick wetness of blood and signs of a wound. Bunching-up his t-shirt, he felt around his ribcage for bullet holes.

I see nothing here. Blood is on me, but I can’t find a wound anywhere unless it’s draining from that perennial hole in my head. Sorry, sorry. My terrible sense of humor is not appropriate, not in these times, these last days. For the show’s old timers, those who were with us before we attracted the larger crowds, you’ll recall our original charter. Our goal was to report with clarity on science topics. I mean, hell, here we are in Cambridge, Mass. If science wasn’t happening in this town, it wasn’t happening at all, or so we believed. Democracy is normally a good thing, but the democratization of gene editing and other virulent tech? Well, crap, we’ve learned hard lessons these days.

Peter paused and took another drink of water. He was unusually thirsty, and anything out of the ordinary, any odd behavior, was a bad sign.

In the last two months, we manufactured our destiny and energized creation, both good and bad, but mostly bad. It was evident every day in the media with each discovery – a new use, a new way to capitalize and profit on tech, a potential defense of any impending threat. That’s what it was for, right? We were protecting ourselves from the threat, the wondrous doom, the presumed and much anticipated invasion. And in these last dozen weeks of interviewing our guests, we got to see firsthand what some were doing in response. And to think, those few guests were a fraction of such characters in the global mix. We only interviewed people who lived in the Boston area or were stopping by our city for another purpose. A proverbial drop in the freaking bucket of existential experimenters. Democratizing this tech killed us. Hey, give me a second as I need to ensure we’re still on air.

Three vidscreens were arrayed in front of him, one with a map of the server network. Peter ran a few pings.

Can some of you try to email me? Good old trusty email. Mine still shows it’s alive. Cell system is out in Boston, and I assume that is a global reality by now. Please, somebody just ping me.

He returned to his microphone. At this late stage, I can’t help but get philosophical on you, so bear with me. This was an everyman podcast, or every person. Whatever. I wanted to help people understand and appreciate the technology. By God, we didn’t intend to cause a ruckus or contribute to the fray, and I’m uncertain how the hell that happened. Molli and I were simply interviewing people. Surely the podcast was a bellwether, a sign of what was going on everywhere, or it was because we ran it from Cambridge, home to great minds and great institutions. I was fulfilling the original charter, the innocently constructive charter, but it unintentionally got corrupted along the way. Not just here, not just in Cambridge, or Boston, or the States for that matter. Things got corrupted everywhere, and they were corruptible long before this podcast started. Other podcasters were doing the same thing, just none that got so amped-up and electrified as us.

A dog barked in the distance, the same hound the neighbors left out to whine incessantly for all to enjoy. It, too, would meet its end soon, he thought with some small pleasure.

I’m not suggesting that I wasn’t part of the problem. Doubtless, our podcast was a town crier of sorts. What the hell? A podcast can’t change the freaking world. We’re people talking. Just conversation.

He paused, wondering how much of that was his own rationalization of innocence.

Odd if you ponder it, that Boston was the center of global democracy. It’s where the idea got legs on this continent. I can’t distort the greatness that was democracy, so I hate to use that word ‘democratizing’ to describe what just happened to us. But the bar kept getting lower and lower for meddling in volatile tech. Too low. I suppose that’s democratizing for lack of a better term. We should have considered the implications of where we were headed. Hell, a fifth grader could buy a kit to modify the DNA of viruses and bacteria, and that was a decade ago. We should have understood it then – but by that time, it was too late.

He looked around the dimly lit garage and remembered how it brightened when Molli and guests were there.

We might have controlled things better, but it doesn’t mean the Chinese would have complied with any global mandates, or the Bulgarians, or my friends north of the border, or name your trillionaire or autocrat. We had a caustic mix of biology, chemistry, physics, genetics, time, and humanity – all focused on the one goal of mitigating our threat exposure. But it appears that was far from our only goal, and ponderous subgoals distorted the outcome. We spoke of chaos theory in podcast number thirty-three, I believe. Remember the double-rod pendulum, and how a small variation had a massive, eventual effect? Well, we had lots and lots of small things happening, whether it was our little garage experimenters, industry, or the hallowed halls of institutions and governments. Some of them impacted the big things like human decency, ecology, fear, politics – and I can’t forget genetics. If historians could add one last entry into the book of humanity, it might say that chaos theory got to us. How little gene drives and scroll tech were allowed to go hog wild, ultimately screwing the proverbial pooch. But I digress.

Peter peered back at the screen that displayed his email account.

Ah, got an email! Somebody is indeed out there on the other end.

He noticed the address was not from a familiar fan, and the subject line showed a single question mark.

I’ll read the message out loud, assuming it’s not too gruesome.

His jaw dropped, and the letters fell from his mouth. HMN M.

It was Molli. That was their simple abbreviation to get the other’s attention. They’d often use it when shifting notes during a podcast.

Help me now, he whispered.

At that moment, he detected a noise in the kitchen then jumped from his chair at an ominous pounding on the garage door to the house.

A raspy voice screamed from the other side, Open and face your death! I smell you in there.

He could fight no longer. Jesus, a mech with olfactory geedee.

Another fist-pounding and shove at the door caused the lock to split the door jamb.

The mech pushed his arm through.

Peter’s makeshift barrier was not working. I’m dead, he sputtered into the mic.

EPISODE 2 – OBELISK

PETER WAS FINISHING THE final few minutes of his podcast.

Okay folks, we are wrapping it up on this magnificent last Wednesday of August 2037. Next week, we plan to take a deeper view at the recent discoveries of what appear to be three new Dyson spheres. Although we covered that topic in previous podcasts, a special guest speaker will be in town from SETI. She’ll provide insights on what they’re finding at SETI as well as any new evidence of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe. I’m sure our listeners are hoping it’s not just another cloud of dust circling a star, or the thousandth example of suspected plant biomarkers from a planet trillions of miles away.

Molli gave the cut sign, always a signal to stop blabbing so much and conclude the podcast. She smiled, exposing small, perfect teeth behind her thick, uncolored lips.

Molli is indicating that I exfoliated my Broca’s area to excess today. Until next time, keep uncovering science, visit our website, and stay in touch. Goodbye.

She removed her headset. I didn’t want to tell you this, but I just received a text from Doctor Lois at SETI. Something came up, and she had to cancel her trip to Boston. She’ll try to make it when in the city at a future date.

Peter peered at Molli sitting across from him. Hey, I get what’s different. You cut your hair this week, right?

Molli stroked her dark, shoulder-length hair.

It was too much hassle. You know I don’t like it that long. Todd wasn’t thrilled, either, since he prefers it long. But I said ‘screw it, boys’ because I do as I please, unhindered. This podcast I tolerate for fun is one thing. My other two jobs are another. There’s no time for extraneous crap in my life, as if there ever was. Hey, did you catch what I said? Doctor Lois from SETI can’t make it.

Peter arched back in his swivel chair. ‘Rich, Corinthian leather’ he’d proclaim on his podcast, knowing no listener would understand his bad joke reference from a 1970s television commercial.

Crapola for breakfast! Means we need to find someone else. I’m glad that’s your job. By the way, what are you and Toddy-boy doing this weekend? Ball game?

Molli pulled out the drawer to stow away her headset and other equipment scattered on her desk.

Nothing special. He’s out of town somewhere.

Somewhere? He travels a lot without you.

None of your business, sir.

By all means.

She closed the drawer and grasped the red spiral notepad she regularly used as an analog form of notetaking.

But seriously, I have too much to do. I’m front-desking at the bakery on Saturday, and I’ll be too tired. I need Sunday alone, by myself, to rest.

Squinting at one of the two monitors in front of her, she added, Oh, and you’ll love this! I forgot to mention the other thing that happened while you were lip-flapping away.

Head down and checking on listener feedback, Peter raised his eyebrows. Yes?

The obelisk.

Obelisk? he replied.

Yeah. Come over here to see or go to your national feeds. I imagine it’s all over the news by now.

Peter rushed around his desk to peer at her screen.

What the hell’s the obelisk? Something Egyptian?

No. Take a gander.

Hello, Houston! An object from outer space? Too much. Can you stay a few minutes longer and watch the news with me? We might want to leverage this for next week’s podcast, albeit without our esteemed Doctor Lois.

Molli nodded in acknowledgement and unrolled her larger vidscreen. She always rolled it up during the podcast to avoid the magnetic draw of video feeds that distracted her from the task at hand. It was the essential function of video that bothered her so much about her previous work managing production at a Boston TV station. ‘The worst job to waste for a graduate of Penn,’ she’d tell friends. The broadcast business was long a dying breed, only coming to life with occasional big news events. There were now so many customized feeds and methods of accessing them, the broadcast industry had devolved to one where too much effort competed for too few eyeballs.

Plopping back in his chair, Peter unrolled his vidscreen and commanded it to activate.

CNN, he commanded, and the screen divided into four different feeds. Feed four, he continued, and the screen responded by focusing on the Breaking News story.

They looked at each other in disbelief, and Peter slammed the desk with his fist. Holy crap exciting!

The reporter was halfway through the story. The experience was similar to the Russian event in 2013 known as the Chelyabinsk Meteor. Residents in the surrounding towns north and east of Prince Albert, including Smeaton, Choiceland, and Love, heard the blast and saw the vapor trail. We helicoptered to Smeaton an hour ago, where most windows are shattered. It’s like a tornado hit the town, but without the tornado.

Any casualties? the anchor inquired.

The reporter grinned. Not that we know of beyond a cow or two. The area where it landed is remote, even for Saskatchewan. A few farms are out there, which is where these kids came from. They were first on the scene and found what’s being reported as the ‘obelisk,’ a long, pyramidal object. Apparently, they told authorities it was easy to locate since it skated parallel to the ground for some distance, then came to rest in a huge, messy pile of mud.

The feed cut back to the anchor desk. How big was it, and what else do we know?

Sorry, this is all we can determine at this stage since the Mounties cordoned-off an extensive area north of these towns. We’re hoping to interview the kids or families who found it, or at least those who saw it streak across the sky. We’ll keep in touch as we gather more information.

Mute! Peter gazed quizzically at Molli, whose eyes were wide open. Doctor Lois? What are the odds she’d skip-out on her whole trip? She was coming to Boston for an awards ceremony, and now her cancellation is making sense. Can you believe this story?

Molli tilted her head and clapped her hands. Peter, we’ve seen so much weird, crazy-ass, never-dreamed-of tech in the last decade. It’s all going too fast for my senses, and I can’t say anything is impossible at this point. I mean, it only takes visiting the streets of Cambridge, maybe especially here, to witness the transhuman, posthuman, and sometimes sub-human or hyper-human-animal-plant, daily freak show. Cast your eyes on some of these clippers, chippers, and gripper mechs walking or hobbling around the streets. The whole freaking world is in disarray right now with tech gone off the deep end, and I mean the unimaginable deep end.

She rose from her chair and slowly stretched her back. You couldn’t see this coming. No way. It only took the last five years, and then it cascaded into the Rocky Horror realm of disbelief. Now nothing surprises Miss Molli. Genetic mutants, purple chlorophyll-skinned teens, robotic bone augmentations, somewhat sentient AI, and now we add alien obelisks into the mix. Toss the whole bunch of them in the pot and raise the flame to boil. Humanity’s a wonderful, luscious, hell-hole concoction right now, some of which is arguably not human at all.

Hey, it’s not that negative. I mean, look at Ears for a great example of a clipper. I love the guy, and you love the guy. He’s hypersensitive, yes, but pure essence of human, despite or perhaps due to his geedee tech.

She nodded in agreement. I know, but the bad seems to outweigh the good. I think about what it was like years ago when parents weren’t happy about their kids getting tattoos or piercings. What’s here now, though, goes far beyond tattoos. Can you imagine a great Bostonian like Ben Franklin plopping his butt down in this fantastic mess of a world?

Although they had been working together for a while, Peter was unaccustomed to being serious with Molli and had never delved much into what she thought about the pace of change.

Good old Ben. That’d make a great book. A Boston Yankee in the Summer Court of 2037 Harvard, or MIT for that matter. He’d love the science part, being an experimenter first class.

I’m not so sure. Think of the countless unlucky, off-target dregs hunkered underground and out of sight, or the radical semi-primate creatures at the edges of this overstretched canvas we roughly call humanity. Then there are the crazy things under consideration, like amending the Constitution to create a separate set of rights between humans and hybrids, as if the latter are somehow lesser beings. Our Founding Fathers never could have conceived of this mess, not even in a psilocybin dream.

Come on, he countered. There’s always been a revolutionary twist in this town. Hey, that reminds me, can you stay a few more minutes?

Sure. What’s up?

I’ve been thinking that we need to change the podcast format and add a squirt of sriracha sauce. Ratings and downloads are trending in the wrong direction, particularly in the last few months, as we are painfully aware. I’m not sure if it’s due to other things going on in the world that compete for listeners, or maybe we’re simply not covering relevant trends. Or maybe we should finally convert to video pods.

Oh, I’m fine to go on camera if you’re willing to fork over big bucks for my makeup and hairstylist teams, she joked. And I know you’ve longed to be recognized on the streets by your millions of adoring fans. But getting real on this, do you mean we should move from basic sciences to applications, or should I say today’s distorted, freakish, and scary applications?

Peter paced back and forth in the small space between the two podcast desks.

That’s right. For example, we reviewed advances in gene drives and scroll, but that was at the deeper level of how it works versus actual applications and impacts on people.

You’ve seen what’s slithering out on the streets, Molli objected. I can’t conclude our listeners need us to go deep into those examples. Anyway, they’ve seen enough human oddity splattered across the media in the last few years. Typical media dregs, always pushing the edgiest and most outlandish crap to attract eyeballs, clicks, and advertisers.

He disagreed. We know these other science podcast shows, though. What’s missing is the human story behind why people are doing what they’re doing. It could give the pod a good spin, something humanistic with added emotional draw.

Molli was getting slightly annoyed. You’re more concerned for ratings and spin than the quality of the podcast? That doesn’t sound like the Peter Scott I know. The big guy is going commercial and can’t separate himself from his podcast and the persona it creates to provide that little jolt of fame-related endorphins.

She smiled, letting him know she was half-serious, half-joking.

Of course, he retorted, thumping his finger on the table, I only graduated from Penn with multiple science majors under my belt, and you got that immensely impactful degree in Sociology. No way I can compete with the social implications guru, so I must defer to your wisdom. But seriously, my bones say to change the format. You always mention how your kung fu master corrects and changes your form. I’m suggesting we mix it up and get more current with the applications side versus the deeper and more ethereal science content.

Molli peered up at him, unsmiling but less perturbed, and began nervously running her fingers through her hair. I can’t argue with your last words there, sir. It’s possible, though unlikely given my extensive depth in Sociology, that I’m suffering from a limited perspective. I’ll meditate and see what falls into my mind. Speaking of which, how is your own meditation coming along?

Peter leaned back and placed both hands over his head. It’s too hard, Molli. I can’t just force my brain to shut off like you. I try to see this pool of calm water you rave about, but it never gets to a glassy surface. No way. My surface is always a raging waterfall, or I’m in a dinghy with sea waves crashing around me and no shark repellant.

She laughed and brushed the granola crumbs from her jeans. I’ve told you a million times to push through it. Mental drift is expected at every stage, but it gets more manageable the better disciplined you become. Also, stop looking at your screens and feeds before you’re ready to go to sleep, for God’s sake.

Yeah, I understand, but how do you keep this genius mind from pondering the limitless options and possibilities of the universe? Do you suppose Einstein meditated? I doubt there’s any history of that, so I’m right up there with great company.

Molli started for the door and slipped back the chrome bolt lock between the garage studio and house.

I hate to admit that you’re right, and it is exceedingly rare when you are, but it’s probably a good idea. I looked at the numbers as well and don’t care to lose more sponsors. If that happens, then the podcast likely disappears, unless your poor parents desire to fund your post-college activities more than they already have. She slipped out the door just as she delivered the final jab. See you, she giggled.

EPISODE 3 – GEEDEE

MOLLI BEGAN TEXTING LATE in the evening after she finished her usual prep for the next day’s activities at the bakery.

Molli:! Peter did you see the text from Ears?

Peter:! Yeah, scanned it. Didn’t read thru.

Molli:! Read again. Geedee underground is buzzing. He wants to meet at studio tomorrow.

Peter:! Fine. Urgent?

Molli:! He thinks so.

The next morning, Peter prepared to ride his bike to his favorite coffee hangout at Harvard Square. Despite the increasing numbers of augmented transhumans on the streets, or varints as they were commonly known, the Square was heavily policed and experienced few problems. This was no longer the case in the downtowns of many cities across the globe where varint factions were increasingly enmeshed in social disruption.

Despite the rising dangers on the streets, Peter carried no weapons. If he was ever confronted by an angry varint, he planned to use his podcast as his defense of their kind. In his mind, the podcast proved he was a proponent of the expanding, amorphous definition of humanity that varints represented.

The emerging panorama of varints were characterized in three major groups. ‘Clippers’ used gene editing and gene drive technologies to augment their bodies. Most augmentations were simple and relatively cosmetic, including changes to skin and hair color.

Other augmentations were far more complex and impactful. Clipper tech quickly advanced to enable major nervous system and musculoskeletal changes, such as added brain capacity or improved strength or height. And at the extremes were the rarer but more controversial modifications like the integration of mammalian, animal, and even plant DNA into a person’s genetic code.

‘Chippers’ were often lightly augmented, at best, but extensively integrated with Internet-centric and AI-controlled systems. Transdermal microchips, first used extensively in pets, gradually advanced into complex systems of components embedded directly within the human body. Touted initially as an upgrade from handheld cellphones, these systems quickly came into widespread use despite fears that such augmentations provided unfair, unequal, rapid access to data and information.

Opponents of chipper tech feared it might enslave the user to cloud-based systems or the human or AI masters who controlled them. Proponents argued that