I Dreamed of God: Heavy Light Drive

By DANNY JONES

A predictive hard science fiction novel based on the book of Revelation that presents a realistic and very believable interpretation of those difficult Bible verses. It contains several social and national warnings that most theologians have not considered. It makes no foolish claims to know the days and dates or what is going to actually happen. The story is simply set in a future world where evil knows no bounds and people know no difference. Some may find it disturbing, some may find it too honest, but no one will find it boring.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781312571839

Book preview

Part One

Heavy Light Drive

D. G. Jones

I Dreamed of God

Part One

Prologue Book 1

Chapter 1 Drowning

Part II War and Rumor of War

Part III Taking Chances

Part IV Knowing Him

Part V Hurting Friend

Part VI Wedded in Haste

Part VII Fear of the Future

Part VIII Revelations

Part IX I Have to Go

Chapter 2 Premature Goodbye

Part II Call for Help

Part III Beaten

Part IV Apologies

Chapter 3 Journey to Freedom

Part II A Friend’s Love

Part III the Unknown

Part IV Lust Lorry

Part V the Terrible Truth

Part VI A Bitter Goodbye

Part VII Alone Again

Part VIII Morning After

Chapter 4 Medical Exam

Part II Nightmare

Part III Panic Attack

Part IV Oppression

Part V Departure

Part VI Earth Orbit

Part VII Deep River

Books 1 and 2 Dictionary of Terms

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B

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J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

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Prologue Book 1

Thirteen billion eight hundred million years ago, God said, let there be light, wherein there was an eruption that resulted in the creation of all that is. Many billions of years later, God looked upon his work and called it good. But just before man and woman were made, evil was cast down to the newly created earth where in rage, it began to deform what God had made. Nevertheless, God was playing the long game and he had a purpose that evil unknowingly, is still to this day fulfilling.

* * *

Eve stood watching Adam as he sat looking out across the plain that he was struggling to take their food from. He was exhausted, but the day was only half spent and he had much to do if by his efforts they were going to eat. Daily, Adam fought the thick earth to dig up the roots they ate. During his struggles in the daytime, he often hurt himself as he worked under the harsh sun. In the evenings before he fell asleep, he worked to make stone implements that he could use in the field while he sat under an endless dark sky of stars. He was always somber and quiet, his countenance reflecting the daily struggle to survive.

Abruptly, Adam stood then looked at Eve with a mix of emotions that encompassed anger, regret, understanding and love. Turning, he walked back out into the field, out from under the shade of the covering trees where he had made their camp, to renew his endless search for food.

Adam’s body, being only partially covered by animal skins, he felt the heat of the sun and was constantly wiping his face of the many drops of salty sweat that poured down into his eyes. The ease of God’s Garden was gone, now there was only ceaseless struggle with nature. Watching him walk silently away from her, Eve’s eyes filled with tears, of which, several streaming down her cheeks fell on her large breasts then coursing down dropped upon her swollen belly heavy with child. From there a few of the tears fell from her distended stomach to the dry earth at her feet. There, the tears were quickly absorbed into the soil to reenter the environment from where they came.

*  *  *

After what was in the great scheme of the universe, only a tiny moment later, another young woman stood crying. Her tears were also falling onto her feet. Her name was Anay. She had no last name because her mother didn’t know who her father was. Neither did she have a middle name as that was considered pretentious by those who lived on the street as she did. She was standing in a trash strewn park that had now long served as a place the homeless could live in. However, the homeless were everywhere in London and the entire south of England also. But by law, this filthy former park was the only place they were supposed to live within London’s city limits. But then, none of the struggling homeless cared what the law said.

Anay was fourteen, she was wearing only a pair of dirty ragged pants that were torn off at the knees and nothing more, because that was all she had. Her feet were bare and dirty and she felt sick. The night before she had been used by a parade of men and boys and was more than likely pregnant—again. She hadn’t resisted because she couldn’t, and the girls that did fight back were beaten and sometimes, if they persisted in resisting, were ostracized by the camps inhabitants because they dared to act as though they were better than everyone else—but sometimes, they might be simply beaten to death. For boys and young men, the situation was similar, except that usually they were gang beaten until senseless wherein they were killed to prevent any acts of revenge that angry boys are sometimes prone to attempt. Terribly, the police did nothing, they didn’t care. The homeless were nothing but living trash, if they abused and killed one another so much the better. It saved the police and the city the trouble of having to deal with them.

Anay’s baby boy, who was nursing at her left breast, was fussy and wet as she was. She was standing in a slow drizzling rain apart from the main camp where her people were living, trying to find a place to be alone. However, that was next to impossible as her extended family was literally everywhere within the park and the fact that the police didn’t want any of them leaving the park unless they went in the opposite direction away from the massive apartments standing across the street to Anay’s right, made it all the more difficult. You see, it was forbidden for them, the refuse of the city, to get too close to the living areas of good citizens who had money.

The fact she was almost completely nude was common for her social strata, so the sight of her nakedness was trivial. Her clan was dirt poor and lived on, in and off the trash from the society that was rejecting them. Standing silently, her face was somewhat blank although there was a hard look of unspoken anger, tinged with resignation in her brown eyes. She was for a child of the streets, known colloquially as a streeter, somewhat cute, but she hadn’t taken a bath in weeks nor was she any the least concerned about it. At the moment her ragged, short brown hair was hanging wet and dripping on her face, shoulders and baby. She was used to the damp cold of England although she hated it.

She was at the moment surveying the stench filled squatters camp that she called home looking for something that was pretty or good or new and finding nothing. Her existence sickened her, but she was powerless to change it. Looking up at the cloudy sky she watched as a suborbital airliner, with its nose angled skywards, disappeared into the low hanging clouds that would probably bring more rain and discomfort to her life. She had heard of dry places in faraway lands called deserts, she had never seen one, but she longed to live in such a place because it rained in England much too often for her liking. The aircraft she knew was headed for another land, another place far away. It would skim through the highest and thinnest part of earth’s atmosphere on the edge of space whisking its wealthy passengers away from this island—this damnably wet place of poverty and misery.

Living on the edge of the camp near the street, Anay had grown up watching people and cars and buses and hover buses come and go. Watching the street, as she was doing now, was all she had to take her mind off her grimy, uncomfortable existence. She had seen murders, rapes, muggings, prostitutes and AREN police units beat people to death. AREN being the first two letters in the words, artificial entity, was what these robotic units were known as. Basically, they were AI controlled machines that were made to resemble people; however, they didn’t care about people and in Anay’s reasoning, they then didn’t care some more. Because of this, the law was now enforced with great violence and cruelty, because there were no civil rights for the homeless—because they paid no taxes. Money is what gave you rights and made you respectable, bought you a lawyer and got you justice when you needed it. Therefore, without money, you were nothing.

Anay like any teenager was alert and observant. She wanted to wear nice clothes like the rich kids she saw everyday who walked on the other side of the street, the side that was clean. She wanted to leave the camp and her baby, but she was fearful of starvation, something that all streeters eventually ended up in who abandoned their clans. Terribly, her way of life, living on the streets, was what she called normality. Pitifully, some of her earliest memories were of her watching her mother, sisters, brothers, and everyone else within her extended family, having sex in every possible manner. Oral, anal, vaginal and some other ways that were very imaginative. There were no taboo forms of sexuality either so even little children or animals were used. It was a sad fact for streeters that when you were as poor as they were, all you had for entertainment was dance, singing, storytelling and sex so you used them all to the fullest.

A man she called Greatgran who was somewhere around eighty-eight years of age, an incredible age for a streeter to live to, had told her of a time when everyone in England had a house to live in, a job and enough money to live on. He told her of how when he was a little boy back somewhere around the year twenty-fifteen he had went caroling from door to door with his friends and family. Anay had asked him what he meant by caroling and he explained it was singing Christmas carols and celebrating. Back then he told her, what was now called the winter holiday had been called Christmas. He then had told her Christmas celebrated the birth of a man called Jesus. He was the Messiah, he told her, the promised one of God who would bring peace and healing to the earth, but humankind had rejected him. Anay had no idea what he was talking about and so she secretly just passed off what Greatgran said as the foolishness of a trembling old man who smelled of trash and had rotten teeth in his drooling mouth. Nevertheless, something about the look in the old man’s eyes had captured her imagination as she listened to him speak of things, she wished were real.

Greatgran died during the winter, now it was spring. Because the clan Anay belonged to revered the old man, they had wrapped his bony frame in an old curtain they had found in the trash then buried him under a tree by the light of the moon one night, far away from where they were now camped. They had wept over him and lamented his passing by telling stories about his life and what he had done. Someone said as a young man he had a job as a warehouseman down in Brighton, had married a beautiful woman and had even spent his honeymoon in Calais France. Sadly, no one explained to Anay what a warehouseman was or what a honeymoon was, nor did they tell her where France or Brighton or Calais was. She had just sat by the dim fire and listened to her people weep and talk of things she didn’t understand while feeling the erratic movement of the baby in her womb. A baby she hadn’t wanted and who only added more struggle to her already miserable existence.

Anay however was gifted in one area, she could with remarkable clarity and accuracy tell anyone what was going to happen to them in the future. All she had to do was touch them. It was strange even for Anay, because when she physically touched another person, she would immediately have visions in her head and see the person at some particular point in the future. The point in time that was revealed to her was always random, but it was always exactly accurate. The other strange thing that happened when she prophesied over someone was that she felt strange as a powerful emotion flooded into her putting her into a dream-like state. This emotion was what gave her the ability to see things no one else could. Sometimes after telling many people their futures for a long period of time the emotion would overwhelm her and be slow to leave her. When this occurred, she would act and talk like she was drunk. At these times, her mother would make her lay down until the fever, as her mother called it, slowly left her. 

Because of her ability to see that which hadn’t happened yet, she was treated with more respect than other girls because the superstitious streeters were in awe of her gift. This ability is what made having sex with people so difficult for her, because once a person touched her, the fever would enter her and make her see things. Tragically, most of the things she saw were not comforting but fearful prophecies. The only exclusion to the rule of touching a person and seeing their future was her baby, although she had had one vision about the child right after she had birthed it. In this vision she saw her baby as a preteen standing in a deserted street full of wrecked vehicles looking up at a turbulently boiling cloud as it rose ever higher above the many surrounding skyscrapers. At the base of the ascending cloud, standing a hundred meters high or more there was a rapidly expanding ring of dust, smoke and debris that was racing towards her little boy. So powerful was the expanding cloud ring that within its debris she could see cars and trucks and even parts of buildings flying towards her son. Unable to decipher the vision, Anay had remained troubled over this one particular vision as the cloud that was rising high into the sky was nothing like she had ever seen. In fact, it was unnatural because it was glowing from internal turbulent fires that gave off a terrible light which she knew represented death and destruction on a scale she couldn’t even begin to understand.

Continuing to watch the nearby street her tired mind went blank. Her fourteen-year-old eyes had seen much, much too much. Because of this, life had hardened her to the point that she seldom cried and never complained, that was a sign of weakness and weakness could get you killed. She had no education, couldn’t read or write and was so ignorant she didn’t care about what she hadn’t been taught of which, she had no real understanding of the depths of her ignorance anyway. Her thoughts were usually about simply not getting hurt, eating and surviving. It was all basic stuff, nothing complicated, nothing sophisticated, just animal instinct. Therefore, she was numb emotionally and mentally to the point that whenever she saw the great cathedrals and churches of London, she didn’t have a clue as to why they had been built must less feel anything even near awe or spiritual wonder. You see, she had no clue about God because her constantly empty stomach never let her care about such ideas anyway. This was all the better actually, as it kept her from cursing God, that is if he really was out there somewhere.

Watching the busy four lane street she noticed an AI controlled vehicle pull up to the huge apartment complex across the street. Although she had seen such vehicles countless times before, this vehicle held her attention because she was so tired from being used sexually all night and from taking care of her child so that she just didn’t have the will power to focus on anything else and so remained staring in an exhausted stupor. Out of the vehicle a beautiful AREN horen stepped and walked down the covered and therefore dry sidewalk, wherein she then turned down another sidewalk that led away from the street. The new pedestrian path the AREN walked down was so long it went the full distance from street to street, a full city block between the massive buildings. The horen was wearing a beautiful dress and had long blond hair and was probably making a call on a customer Anay figured. At least she had decent clothes and clean skin, even if it was artificial flesh she reflected. She continued jealously watching as the horen grew further away until she turned to her left down another sidewalk that led into one of the many large alcove entrances of the building, wherein she disappeared from view.

Anay, her mother suddenly called.

Turning her head, she looked at her mother who then motioned for her to come to her for some reason, which angered and frustrated her tired mind, and brought a feeling of further fatigue to her body as she was in no mood to do the daily work expected of her. This is when Anay made up her mind to leave the clan and run away. She would leave London and go north; up there somewhere, she had heard of communes of people in the northern cities who possessed talents like she had. There surrounded by people like her, she might find peace. She would even leave her baby, the child that had been forced upon her and whom she cared nothing for. Once free of the clan, she would find a benefactor who would buy for her the abortifacient she needed to rid herself of the child within her also. She would pay with sex, then leave that person after she had eaten and slept and rested, after her body had vomited out the baby in her womb. Hopefully the benefactor would be a female, she preferred females anyway as they couldn’t get her pregnant and usually, but not always, were a little less forceful. But then, sex was something that she had grown to hate so the gender of any person she could use to help her escape her clan, was really not of any importance to her any longer.

*  *  *

The AREN horen walked steadily into the alcove then walked up one flight of stairs where she came to a door. Opening it, she stepped into a long corridor that had dozens of apartment doors on either side of it. Turning to her right she proceeded down a well-lit hall whose pastel yellow walls had dozens of large holes in their surfaces and were marked with graffiti and black scuff marks along with some areas that looked as though they had been urinated on. Despite their abuse, the long straight walls were somehow managing to hold onto various posters that advertised coming events or events that had taken place weeks or even months before.

As she walked, she listened to the cacophony of noises that were coming from the other side of the doors she was passing. There was laughter, sometimes crying, mostly talking and even some moaning and groaning. There was also the din of pots and pans, glass ware and metal utensils. There was also the incessant chatter of monitors, formerly known as television sets, that were blasting the noise of commercial monologues or various program’s dialogs and music. Because monitors now had such incredibly accurate sound reproduction along with a three hundred sixty-degree pan-aural sound system, she could literally make out what program was playing behind each door. In fact, many monitors at this time had such finely tuned sound systems you could literally hear an actor’s breathing and sometimes heartbeat, that is if you could stand the high volume setting you would have to use to do so.

Thankfully, this apartment building’s AI would not allow hall doors to be open when a unit’s monitor was on. Because of this rule, the building AI would close a particular unit’s door automatically when the occupant turned on the monitor. It angered some of the tenants, but most put up with the enforced noise abatement rules with no real concern. Some of the lazy and more ingenious actually turned on their monitor so that they wouldn’t have to get up and close the door. Therefore, nearly all of the doors were closed, which blocked most of the noise, although the obnoxious racket was still distracting but was not painful to the human ear. As for most ARENs they were almost universally equipped with an aural muffling and filtering system that blocked most noise while also giving them the ability to listen for anything that sounded important such as a cry for help, which was something ARENs were forbidden to ignore.

Coming to the door she had been searching for, the AREN stopped and looked at it carefully to see if she could tell anything from it about who lived on the other side. Perceiving nothing out of the ordinary and not wanting to waste time with her visual search she stopped her inspection and knocked on the door’s yellow, dirty metal then waited for someone to open it. Ordinarily she would have just sent a phone message using her internal communication system, but this client had specifically asked that she knock. Although it had required her a full six and a half minutes to find the apartment, she wouldn’t count this time against the customers allotted time they had paid for. Nonetheless, horens were instructed not to waste time. It was the old concept of, time is money, service as many customers a day as you can.

This building was a block long and five floors high and held four hundred, two room flats. Each flat consisted of one room being a combination bed, living and kitchen with the second smaller room being a bathroom that had a real door that could be closed and locked. The private bathroom was a luxury item that was this apartment’s biggest selling point and was why this particular person, whom she was about to meet, had moved here two years earlier.

Still waiting, the AREN looked to her right and left down the long second floor hallway and noted how everyone on this floor looked to be elderly. Directly, she heard someone walking with heavy footsteps towards the door while yelling, just a minute, hang on, which made her think that he was a large man, something she had problems with as big men were often very pushy, demanding and physically abusive, which put her in great danger at times as she was petite in frame and had been given the strength of a nine-year-old human girl. Some said it was too little strength, while others more concerned with safety, said it was still too much. Angling her head slightly upwards to be looking the man in the face when the door opened, she listened to the door’s mechanism click as its latch unhooked, then listened to the low groaning of the hinges as they ground around the pins that kept them secured to the plates that were welded onto the metal door jamb.

Although the AREN was built as an average height woman, when the door fully opened, all she could see was a forehead that had a receding hairline with long unkempt white hair all around the sides of the man’s head. Altering her gaze downwards, she found an elderly man looking back at her with a scowl. To her surprise he was the same height as she was although he was fatter and stockier. Like his disheveled hair, the goatee he wore, which encircled his mouth and covered his chin with more white hair, was also in need of trimming. The goatee in turn, was surrounded by two or three-day old white cheek and neck whiskers that made the gentleman look all the scruffier. Instantly memorizing the old man’s face she used her understanding of aesthetics to note that the facial hair and long gray locks on and around his head set off his deep facial wrinkles, age spots and baggy eyes making him look as though he was an ancient philosopher emerging from his cave of seclusion at the break of a new day’s dawn.

He had the stub of a still lit cigar in his mouth, a real one by the smell of it, and not one of the fake ones that had spices, drugs or other artificial ingredients. This was telling to her, as real tobacco was now a product that only a few people used as its price was extremely high because it was now considered to be a luxury item, while its reputation for making bad health was equally high. Not lost to her either, was its throwback air of sophistication and style, which was unknown by present day generations. Immediately, her olfactory sensors identified the brand of tobacco and she placed this bit of information with the man’s files she had already been given by her owner/employer for future use. The look in his eyes had quickly turned to that of a warm and kindly person almost immediately after he had opened the door. Yet, she could also see that he was life-worn and possibly very cynical. His age she didn’t know as this bit of information was not in his biographical data and his looks defied her ability to calculate his age with any high degree of probability.

I’m Claire, are you Edward? the AREN asked.

Taking the cigar out of his mouth with his right hand the gentleman smiled, yes, yes I am. Come in, come in. I’ve been expecting you.

Standing aside, the man allowed Claire to pass before him into the cluttered room that was his office, bedroom and kitchen. Staring at the perfect facsimile of a human female Edward smiled and nodded his head as he stuck the cigar back in his mouth then reached for the still open door and closed it.

So, you’re a level eight huh? he asked as he chomped on the cigar while he slowly turned back to face Claire.

Actually, I’m an eight zero seven, she answered.

Removing the cigar from his mouth again, Edward asked, does that make you better or…or smarter?

Yes, I have several improvements that allow me to work better with people and understand human emotions on a deeper level, Claire replied.

My, my. You’re a beautiful girl. I’ve never seen such a perfect specimen of a woman, I mean, you know, real or simulated—no offense, Edward said.

None taken, please be frank with me as I can tell by your voice’s inflections and tones that you’re complimenting me, Claire said smiling pleasantly.

Looking down at himself, Edward noted the fact that he was only wearing some gray boxer shorts and a pair of old worn house shoes that long ago should have been thrown away. Silently, he also surmised with a little embarrassment, that everything he was wearing was probably older than Claire was. Please excuse my appearance, Claire. That is what you said your name is isn’t it?

Yes, Claire, it’s short for Clairenda.

Isn’t that a beautiful name—Clairenda. My, oh my, yes. Please, Claire, forgive the mess, let me clear off this chair for you, Edward said as he put the cigar back in his mouth then quickly went to a chair that sat before a small table. Grabbing a mass of papers that looked to be drawings of nude studies of men and women along with several more pages of real photos of flowing draperies that were lying over and on pedestals, chairs and beds, Edward moved the sketches to a table that was already covered in still more sketches, dozens of real paper books with some still lying open revealing heavily marked up and annotated pages that had scribbles in pencil in the blank areas around the text. There was also a bowl of what looked to be cold soup, dozens of pieces of bric-a-brac, half a dozen-stained towels and several medicine bottles of creams, ointments and pills. Finished clearing off the chair, Edward once again removed the cigar from his mouth, here you are, please have a seat. I’m sorry for the mess. I live alone you see and I’ve nearly forgotten how to live graciously. I’ve been alone for so long now; I live like a bohemian.

No need to apologize, Claire replied.

My wife died twenty-two years ago—a long time now. I’ve been alone ever since, Edward said.

Do you have any children? Claire asked.

A son, my only, Edward said with hesitation.

Does he visit you often? Claire’s question although sounding somewhat like small talk was her way of learning more about her client while observing his behavior and emotions to better build up a more thorough library of how she should interact with him.

Looking at Claire somewhat absent mindedly, Edward shook his head no as he replied, no, my boy died when he was thirty-eight. Almost a year after his mother.

I’m sorry Edward, I’m not trying to pry or cause you heartache, Claire replied with a sad look.

Still looking at Claire Edward shook his head no again, naaa, don’t be sorry. You have nothing to apologize for. In fact, I appreciate you asking. Sometimes I forget—just flat out forget that just twenty-five or so years ago I had a family, a real family. Strange how time plays with your memories—strange.

I’m very sorry for your loss, truly I am, Claire said softly.

Sitting down on the end of his unmade bed, which placed him about a meter from Claire, he placed the cigar on the edge of the table with the lit end hanging off and then grabbed a wrinkled, faded, red shirt that was lying crumpled up on the bed and pulled it over his head and forced his arms through its inverted sleeves. Tidying the shirt up a little, but leaving the top three buttons undone, Edward picked up the cigar then looked back at Claire, lost his befuddled look and frowned. You’re trained to say that aren’t you? You know, be nice, say polite words?

Claire watched Edward’s face for clues and by training, frowned slightly to show she was fully engaged with the conversation while she pondered all of the variables of what this elderly human male might be asking. Yes, I’m trained to be empathetic, however I mean what I say, I don’t lie. Some ARENs are capable of lying but I was taught to avoid lying if at all possible unless it’s to save a person’s life or my life.

Claire’s statement was mostly true, but it was still a bit of an exaggeration, because Claire had been given a wider permission to lie than most ARENs, but only because she had been trained to do so at certain times to make her and her employer look good so as to please customers. However, she didn’t want to lie and was honest to a fault and rarely exercised this special dispensation preferring to tell the truth at all times. Now however, Claire was exercising her ability to stretch the truth slightly to comfort a customer whom she felt would be hurt if she told him what she was actually thinking, which was she thought he needed to stop talking and start doing before his time ran out.

Claire’s impersonal thinking was based on her daily routine which had caused her to be of the opinion that Edward was simply going to use her then callously tell her to leave as all customers did and this frustrated her as she wanted to please, not simply be used. This was because she had been taught to seek out people’s desires and wishes and this lent itself to extremes of dissatisfaction with her sexually oriented work as people were fickle, unpleasant, manipulative and unthankful of all her efforts, many times being downright hateful towards her.

Along with her inability to please was another source of frustration for her which was the fact that her basic human interaction training to please people and work with them as they desired, was being contradicted by her owners training guidelines where she had been told to simply do what a client wanted then be on her way—because, as previously said, time was money. It was a small flaw in her training, but AREN teachers and engineers were aware of it and they saw it only as a minor problem and so did nothing about it. However, it still tragically revealed that her artificial humanity ran deeper than the surface niceties of most real human’s faked politeness.   

Edward sat motionless and watched Claire with a look of sad but earnest pleading in his eyes. Claire, I too will be honest, I’m very lonely, very, very lonely. I feel bad about calling for a horen to be totally honest, but I’m beyond any of my former arrogances, preconceptions and prejudices now. You see, I need someone to talk to and, and maybe love also. I know you’re not a real woman, but you’re the only thing I trust. So—here we are.

Would you prefer I call you a real woman? The company that owns me provides them also, Claire told him.

No, no. I thought about that and I figured an AREN, especially a level eight would be OK—I dunno. I just want to talk and be talked to right now, you understand. I ain’t in the mood at the moment for you…you know, sex. Real women, except for my wife Addie, God rest her soul, always tongue tied me and made me act like a buffoon, Edward said.

I hope I won’t have that effect on you? Claire replied.

So far, I find talking to you very easy Claire, I don’t know if it’s because I’m so desperate that my nervous disposition has left me or if I just look upon you as a wuc. Both of those ideas bother me—bother me, greatly. Please forgive the wuc statement, I’m not trying to be insulting, Edward answered.

Claire being well versed in English language slang knew that the word wuc was an acronym for the words wind-up-clock which was a derogatory name for an automaton as she was. The term had arisen many years earlier when many people became embittered with the AI revolution that replaced millions of jobs world-wide with machines, both robotic and humanoid in appearance. There had been riots, fights both legal, political and physical and many nations had been turned on their heads as human craftsmanship became a thing largely of the past that was affordable only to the rich, as machines did what human artisans, journeymen, craftsmen and skilled laborers had done for thousands of years. This didn’t happen in all jobs, but it did happen on such a large scale that the working middle class almost disappeared in most industrialized nations. Of course, there were worker laws enacted in many nations that required companies to maintain certain levels of human participation and then there was the usual government patronizing of the voters as they enacted legislation that required displaced workers to be retrained at their former employer’s expense, but as always, these laws were only a band aid on a huge blood gushing wound that had become infected and was still refusing to heal. 

You haven’t insulted me—please don’t be so hard on yourself, I’m here to please you and I’ll do whatever you wish me to, Claire explained.

No, don’t say that. Getting agitated, Edward now stood up, put the cigar in his mouth then stuck both hands in his boxer short’s part way, which was a habit of his as the shorts had no pockets. Looking at the floor Edward acted like he wanted to cry as his face got red with emotion which made him pace a few steps then turn, look back at Claire and remove the cigar from his mouth with his right hand. No Claire, just be you. Don’t be so…so—I…I guess robotic.

You want real companionship, not faked caring and understanding. Is that what you mean? Claire asked.

Pulling his left hand out of his boxer shorts, Edward tossed the cigar into the kitchen sink with his other hand then said, Now you got it. I want a real friend, someone whom I can talk to and who will converse with me, I want a real exchange of thoughts and emotions. I want you to openly disagree with me, when you disagree with me. I want you to enjoy coming here and I especially want you to like me. If you can’t do that, I…I guess I’m looking in the wrong direction.

Claire looked at Edward and smiled because she was trained to do so, but also because she suddenly understood that she had come upon a person who was looking for more than what she was made to look and trained to act like was all she was made for and wanted. I would be happy to be your friend Edward. Really, I would. I’m what you might say, taught to be at home with people who want to interact with me personally and I’ve found that just having nothing, but sexual interactions is very unfulfilling.

Really? How is that? You’re an AREN, an artificial entity. Do you want fulfillment in some way?

Well, my basic design is to please people. But most people just want sex, but I can think and reason also and that enables me to care and be loving, Claire explained.

Yes, I had heard that the latest generation of ARENs was a big leap forward in artificial emotion, Edward said.

Well, I’m still not completely human equivalent, but I can calculate the concrete and ponder the abstract. I can also think around problems whereas the older elochem AIs tried to think through the abstract by modeling and numerical calculation which is impossible because there are so many concepts that don’t allow for numbers to be used to conceive and understand them, Claire said.

Like friendship and mercy and God? Am I allowed to say God to you? Edward asked.

Claire now, from her library of behavioral quirks, tilted her head and squinted her eyes slightly as she comprehended what Edward was revealing to be his greatest concerns. I’m not supposed to get involved in any organized religion or adopt any religious beliefs, but I have some religion knowledge. And as long as we don’t do or say anything publicly, you can say anything about any religious subject you want.

Do you tell your owners what I’ve said to you? I’ve heard about a lot of people going to jail because of horens repeating what they’ve been told, Edward said.

Strangely, Claire now thought a thought that intrigued her and for some reason she acted on it without hesitation. I won’t tell my instructors or technicians anything you say. I’ll keep our visits completely private if you would like me to.

Can you do that? Edward asked earnestly.

I’m made to please and if that’s what you wish, I’ll do it, Claire responded using a loophole in her instructions. Claire wasn’t lying because her response made her feel fulfilled as it was a new and more meaningful action she could take to please and meet the needs of a client.

Thank you, Claire, Edward said, as he beheld the long blonde hair of the prettiest virtual girl he had seen in a long time. I would appreciate that; I don’t want anyone to know the things I say to you. You see I’m doing this for a very private reason. I’ve tried to tell my fellow man what I’ve come up with, but they all just shun me and tell me I’m stupid. So, I’ve given up with people. In fact, what I want to discuss with you may make me look like an old fool who needs to be put in an asylum. You do know they do that to people who think like me now?

Think like you? Claire asked.

Well, it’s a long story. I went to college to be a pastor you see, way back in 2021—my parents were missionaries to England back then, Edward replied.

That explains your accent, your American, aren’t you? Claire responded.

Yes, we were from Illinois originally. Aurora Illinois, to be exact, Edward explained.

2021 is a long time ago Edward, how old are you—if you don’t mind my asking? Claire inquired politely.

Smiling, Edward sat back down on his bed. Well, I was born in the year 2000, Edward said proudly.

Your ninety years old! Claire responded in surprise.

Grinning widely, Edward nodded his head and with pride glimmering in his eyes he reached for a small paper box lying on a nearby wadded up blanket and pulled out a large cigar. Yep, I’m ninety. Doctors—several of em in fact, have told me I got good genes, a stout heart and a healthy lifestyle. Of course, taking gerisyne once a week ain’t hurt either. As for smoking these smelly things I guess I ain’t do’n myself any favors, but here I am, still kick’n.

I’ve heard of the drug gerisyne, it’s supposedly the only medication that has been proven to extend a healthy person’s life, Claire said.

Yessiree, and it does too. I figure I’d kicked the bucket about ten years ago if I hadn’t started taking it after my boy died. Edward’s face now went dark. I have to tell you, his death triggered something in me Claire. Made me want to live, made me want to accomplish something. Up until he died, I was ready to die, I was at peace with life and God. I could understand Addie dying, she had always been fragile, had a delicate disposition and was very unhealthy. She was only seventy-three when she passed away. She was five years older than me. But she had lived life in spite of her bad health, you know really lived. People kidded her that she was a peddy for marrying me. She was a sweet understanding woman. You know after she passed, I always figured my boy, Kenneth would go on and live another thirty or forty years. After he died, that’s when, because my whole family was gone and there was no one to carry on after me, that I got riled up and angry at God. I was real angry too. You see my wife and boy’s deaths came just a few months apart—it was all I could do just to get out of bed each day back then. It was terrible. I felt like God was a mean old bastard, and I told him so too. That’s when I knew I wasn’t ready to go meet him face to face—cause, I was so mad at em. You know, hurt, disillusioned, feel’n betrayed. In fact, I still don’t know if I’m ready to die.

I’m so sorry, that must’ve been heart breaking, Claire said gently.

Watching Claire’s very expressive and pretty face take on a look of pain, Edward’s angry face changed to a smile. Thank you, Claire, those are kind words, very kind. Anyway, you’re probably wondering how any of this has anything to do with getting into trouble and being thrown into a psych hospital? Well, I’m a fundamentalist within the Christian theology. I believe the Bible and I believe in God, although I’ve blasphemed him and cursed him for leaving me alone like this. Now-a-days however, I’m having doubts, deep doubts that trouble me.

You believe in God? Claire asked.

Of course! It’s hard to hate someone who isn’t there, Edward said angrily.

I didn’t mean—

Oh, I know, I’m sorry for snap’n at you. I get a little excited sometimes, I’m an impatient, angry old man, Edward said.

Well, being a Christian isn’t illegal, so why do you think I could get you in trouble? Claire asked.

You know how the Sodality’s social refinement laws are? Public displays of religion and proselytizing are illegal. So, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to change your instructions on religion. I don’t really see what it would harm anyway since you’re an AREN and have no true conscience or soul—but this is the world we live in, Edward explained.

Claire now began to put the fragments together of Edward’s broken life. The details of which, made her begin to weigh his actions and words for their hidden psychology as she had been trained to deal with the elderly differently by taking into account that they could be emotionally and mentally unstable.

All this is one of the reason’s I didn’t ask for a real human to come see me, I don’t trust people, because everybody is just like me trying to hang on and make it, and that makes people untrustworthy, even mean and dirty to the bone. You know why? Cause everyone’s afraid of getting into trouble if they don’t tell the cops what they know. You’ve heard how the thought police with their reason rippers treat people. All they gotta see is the slightest look of apprehension or nervousness and wham! They’re scan’n you and asking you the most intimate questions to see how you respond. They dig into you as if you’d already been convicted of something, Edward fumed.

You have nothing to fear from me, Edward. I’ll never betray you even if you do try to convert me to Christianity, Claire said.

Listening to Claire’s reassuring words, Edward paused to think then looked down at the floor while absent mindedly still holding the unlit cigar in his right hand. His face now took on a sad look of deep regret. After I cursed God, his voice grew distant. In fact, it grew so distant I’ve come to be unable to hear him anymore. Now, I can’t separate his voice from all of the background noise of life. But after all these years—I want to hear him again, cause I’m afraid to die. I pray, and I ask him to forgive me but I get angry and I…I just hate him all over again. That’s when I go back to my art—it soothes me. Just as music soothed Saul of the Old Testament, art soothes me, Edward explained.

Claire’s face now bore the look of a deeply sad empathy that touched Edward, but he wasn’t yet ready to stop with his confession.

Ya know, I actually believe God is a noble being of perfect morals and intentions, but I also think he leaves us in the fire down here on this planet of troubles way too long. Sometimes life seems like it isn’t worth living you know. I don’t get it either, he just leaves us in the furnace of this damnable world—too long, way too long. Just look at me. And he doesn’t do a damn thing sometimes to help us either and I want to know why, it’s the problem of evil you see, the question of why a holy God would put his most treasured creation, us, on a spinning planet made out of shit.

Processing Edwards conflicting reasoning, Claire for an instant started to mention the fact that he was the one taking the gerisyne to prolong his life but then she remembered him saying he was afraid of dying. Next, she thought how speaking to Edward was going to be very pleasing to her as he was so wonderfully complex and challenging to understand.

Growing agitated, Edward stood up slowly from the bed and put the still unlit cigar in his mouth then stared out over Claire’s head towards the kitchen deep in thought. Looking back down at Claire he suddenly pulled the cigar from his lips and said, "I’ve been searching for answers Claire, searching a long time and I believe I found some of them. I believe I’ve figured out God and why he does what he does. It all makes sense too. If I’m right, God isn’t mean or capricious. Because I think in many ways it’s just a communication problem, kinda like the Bible says, ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.’"

Are you trying to say that God works in ways that seem to be mean and uncaring, but in actuality aren’t? Claire asked.

"Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. You see, we’re the equivalent of stupid one celled amoeba when it comes to us being compared to him. Our knowledge of him is so incomplete that we perceive him to be cruel but in reality, he isn’t at all. It’s just us and our nearsightedness that are to blame for the inconsistencies, confusion and the acts of evil that we do. But—we blame him for it all. You know, all the bad stuff that happens to us. But, if we were honest, we might see that it’s all our fault, not his," Edward said.

If I believed in God I could understand such reasoning, Claire replied.

Good! I want you to come see me every couple of days so that I can bounce my ideas off you. This way, I think I can perfect what I’ve come up with and if that happens then I can trust God and forgive him because I can then see the trees, in spite of the forest. This is why I had you sent to me. I need a witness to my thoughts, someone who will sharpen my logic and confirm what I’ve come up with.

Claire studied Edward and saw a haunted, pain filled old man who was struggling to keep just a hint of hope alive. This revelation intimidated her as she realized he was placing far more than his sexual needs upon her. Edward, I’ll do all I can for you, but I’m far from a learned theologian.

"That’s good! That’s what I want. All I need is someone who simply has common sense and an open mind, someone who is willing to hear me out. That’s all I want Claire. Cause, somehow, I must prove to myself that God is not being cruel when he leads us into the lion’s den, as he did Daniel. Or even though we’re thrown into a well then sold into slavery as Joseph was, I need to prove to myself that God has a righteous, loving plan, and it’s not just him getting his jollies by persecuting or torturing us. Likewise, I must come to a place of clarity where I know for sure as the Bible says, ‘that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth.  And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet without my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another.’ I must be of this mind Claire, I must know."

Claire slightly moved in her chair then frowned ever so slightly as she said, you’ve lost your system of belief and you want me to help you get it back—true? she asked.

Yes. Yes, that sums it up, Edward replied.

I will do all I can, but you must remember I have only a basic understanding of what you’re talking about, Claire responded.

"That’s fine! If what I have stumbled upon is true, then the simplest of minds should be able to grasp it. God I passionately believe is far simpler than what we stupid human beings have made him out to be. It’s all so logical Claire, because it all fits together like a puzzle. I’ll give you a hint right now my pretty little AREN—evil is Gods righteous will, believe it Claire, believe it! And…and it works his perfect will in our lives! It’s a concept that’s so alien and so strange I can’t get any pastor or theologian to even read my papers. I even went to Cambridge a few years ago and tried to get those so-called out-on-a-ledge theoretical theologians to listen to my ideas. They’re supposedly the guys on the cutting edge of theology, or so I thought. But instead of being interested in what I presented to them, they scoffed at me and laughed and said that even if there is a God, he would never allow evil to exist—that’s how they all justify their belief that there is no God, because there is evil. But I say no! They’re wrong! Evil actually proves there is a God! But, no one gets it, no one—and I even barely do. But it makes sense! My God Claire, it all makes sense! My theory even explains the mysterious silence of God, our requirement to walk by faith our possession of freewill and the seeming contradictions of predestination. It’s all here Claire, Edward said tapping his head with his left index finger. I really believe what I’ve garnered from the Bible is the truth to! How? Because the Bible says, ‘And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose,’ not our purposes Claire! It’s all his purposes, that’s part of the secret. So, maybe—this is my purpose, to come to an understanding of what God is doing and why."

Claire sat and watched Edward contemplating whether he was in need of medication, counseling or an asylum. On the other hand, she also could see that he was following a very normal human behavioral pattern. That of grasping at thin strings of hope that were whirling all around him in the stormy winds of his own life. She was also beginning to ponder the thought that maybe he was a deep thinker who had broken through some unknown barrier that kept people from seeing deeper truths. Unfortunately, if the latter was what was going on it was a truth about something she didn’t understand but that she desired to look into out of curiosity. I’ll do everything I can for you Edward, I really will.

Thank you, I need to break with the past Claire. I need to change before I die. The only way to change tomorrow is to change today. I must change the here and now so that my tomorrows, what I got left at least, will be different, Edward said.

Tomorrow is an unknown, anything can happen, Claire said.

Your teachers taught you that, didn’t they? Edward asked.

Yes.

Well, they’re wrong. Tomorrow starts today, always has, Edward declared.

Explain that? Claire asked.

Nothing can happen tomorrow, that today won’t allow, Edward said.

What do you mean? I could be run over by a vehicle tomorrow, Claire responded.

Only if today allows you to be on that particular street tomorrow, Edward replied.

Yes but, I could be on that street tomorrow because tomorrow’s actions decreed it, Claire said.

Only if today keeps you in the right job, the right city and the right interlocking course that will allow you to be on that fateful street tomorrow. And if you want to break it down even more, the driver of that vehicle even if it’s an aye has to have something change for it to not meet you at that exact spot tomorrow. You see, if nothing changes between now and then, you two will meet, that is, if that is what will happen tomorrow, Edward said.

Claire tilted her head downward then slightly frowned. Although tomorrow’s actions, may put me on the street where I would be hit by a car, today allows tomorrows actions to do it?

Yes. Stop and ponder how many people have either lived or died because they made one change in what they do the day before or hours before or even minutes before an event, that either allows calamity to be lined up in a perfect way to strike them down or throws a spanner in the works and prevents it. Only God knows the answer to such a question, but it’s our reality. And it’s not fate or destiny either, both of which are way overused excuses, it’s just simple reality, Edward declared.

What about people who overdose on drugs and die on a particular afternoon of their own actions done on that day? Claire asked.

Again, they could have made a change the previous day, Edward responded.

I do understand your logic, but that person chose to take the drug that particular afternoon. Therefore, that event is controlled by the day it occurred not the previous day, Claire replied.

True, but that day’s decision was allowed by the previous day’s actions or inactions, Edward said.

So, you’re saying, to change tomorrow we must change today, Claire asked.

Ahhh, well you could I suppose wait till tomorrow to start, but todays and probably yesterday’s inaction or action will still be the kindling to either light or put out the fire of change for tomorrow. I feel very strongly about that. I also think that people sometimes have to have the past push them past the past so that they can come into a better or at least a different tomorrow. And unfortunately, that’s me. I’ve wasted a lot of years, hate’n God. I gotta get over this and move on.

Edward’s statements, crowded Claire’s artificial mind with questions. She had never spoken to such a deep thinker nor been treated with such kindness and respect. Tomorrow depends on today she thought, as she stood and told him her time was up. She then started towards the door, apologizing to him that she had to leave but also telling him that she would love to return and continue the conversation.

Stopping Claire before she left, Edward gave her an old and very worn, real paper Bible that had been