Returning to Eden

Grandma and Mary exchanged glances and then nervously looked at George, who was clearing cups and saucers away. He had stopped momentarily and was giving them all an odd look. He made a noise that sounded like he was clearing his throat, if he had actually had one, that is. He spoke in a disapproving tone.

“May I advise against illegal activities.”

The AI age had its disadvantages for citizens. Loss of privacy was one of them. Rapidly blossoming technology meant the Human Rights Act penned in 1998 had become useless. It hadn’t been written when such science was possible. When the first humans accepted voice assistants in their homes, they embraced them as fun and useful. After all, what could be so wrong in asking for a favourite track to be played, or enquiring as to the weather? Eyebrows were raised and headlines made when companies began stealing people’s personal data, TV’s could ‘listen’ and the first murder was recorded by a smart device, but now the technology was so enmeshed in every day life that it was almost impossible to separate from it. This meant ‘anyone’ could hear your business or even your personal thoughts. Expecting then, to have the right to privacy in family life, was unrealistic.

Domestic robots had been known to report their owners for conspiring to commit criminal acts. Depending on the crime contemplated, those who were caught were forced to undergo a type of gene therapy that would rewire their brain, causing them to think and behave in a manner that was more agreeable to the state. The trouble was, it always ravaged the individuals personality, what little they had that was theirs. Marriages didn’t often survive such a procedure, as spouses struggled to relate to a partner whose character bore no resemblance to the person they married. More serious contemplation of crimes were punishable by death and since the Human Rights Act was a relic, trial by jury no longer occurred. Justice 22nd century was swift and brutal. It was extremely dangerous to even voice such things in the home.

Grandma quickly interjected

“Absolutely not, George, we are just very disappointed and stressed, as you can imagine. Our elevated stress levels are causing us to project irrational fantasies. What would you suggest to help us?”

George the robot’s face seemed to calm as it searched its data banks for information relevant to her question.

“There are many remedies available for stress”, it replied, “Hundreds of options available to you, visualisation, healthy eating, prescribed injections…”

It began rattling off a very long list of possibilities.

“Excellent!”, interrupted Grandma, “Would you download all the available information for us from all available sources?”

George attempted to assimilate the human emotion of surprise.

“There are thousands of entries relating to stress and its treatment in my data banks, it would take me some time to access and download them all.”

Grandma beamed.

“That’s okay, it would be so useful to us!”

“As you wish, Mrs Freeman Senior.”

George turned away and began downloading an entire library. In this mode, the robot could no longer listen and it bought them valuable time to ask Jon what on earth he was talking about. They moved into the kitchen so they wouldn’t be within earshot of the TV.

“It’s not possible to have a baby without help, my tubes are clipped”, said Mary in a hushed, hurried tone. “I can’t have a baby without surgery first and a non-GM baby hasn’t been born in 120 years! Plus, we’re microchipped, we won’t even be able to get on an automatic tram before we get flagged up. What about facial recognition, too?”

Facial recognition software was introduced on a wide scale in 2020 as an infection control measure. More ‘primitive’ humans were susceptible to infections that almost never occurred anymore so facial recognition could identify if they had a fever or if they were adhering to quarantine rules. Later on, the measures were widened to help police find the location of wanted criminals and now it was used everywhere. Every public transportation method had face recognition sensors installed, as well as businesses and leisure facilities. Going anywhere without being recognised was impossible.

“Look”, said Jon, his mind ticking over, “I work at the university, next to the genetic modification department. You know I spend all that time down the boozer with Josh?”

Mary nodded apprehensively.

“Well, we weren’t down the boozer. Josh is very concerned about the effect of gene alteration and designing babies…there’s only so many identical babies you can have in the world before you start having problems, so he has been helping people have their own babies. He thinks our survival depends on it. He can help us, and grandma.”

Both women were gaping at him open-mouthed.

Her husband’s pally relationship with his best friend suddenly made sense. There was hardly ever one without the other.

Her mind was racing.

“Why didn’t you mention any of this before!?”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“You know full well that if anyone found out, he’d have his chip removed. They would execute him and all the people involved, so you must never breathe a word of this to anyone! There are ways around the problems you mention but I won’t mention them here. In future, we should pass notes to each other so we don’t have to speak out loud.”

“Notes?” Mary asked, “You mean on paper?”

“Yes, the old fashioned way. I’m a history professor, it won’t seem odd. This whole place is odd compared with the rest of the neighbourhood and no one minds because of my occupation. I can destroy the notes with my banned books collections.”

Every so often, the ministry would send Jon paper books that were critical of AI or some other aspect of science that had helped to shape the trans-humanist world. They didn’t want youth realising that in previous centuries there was much opposition to it or that people could enjoy life without computers. While Ebooks could be edited, the physical existence of paper books was more problematic. Anything that didn’t fit with the official narrative was destroyed at one of several universities. Jon was responsible for doing this at his. He could easily take the notes to work and dispose of them there. Of course, being passionate about authentic history, he had a secret stash of materials that he had not got rid of. They included information on resistance movements and techniques that had been helpful to Josh and the rest of the team.

“We can sort the microchip and the face recognition”, whispered Jon, “we can reverse the tubal ligation, just say nothing, act normal and trust me.”

“What about the nanobots in my brain? What if I think something that gets picked up by a computer?”, Mary quizzed him, feeling flustered.

Grandma rushed off to her bedroom and came back with a pink mat that she threw onto the kitchen floor.

They both looked around at her.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a yoga mat”, said grandma, grinning.

“Popular in the west from the mid-20th century”, said Jon, finishing her sentence.

She shushed him.

“Never mind that, it’s for mindfulness, the answer to Mary’s thought problem.”

“What’s mindfulness?” Mary asked.

“It was popular with my own grandparents”, grandma explained, “it’s a form of meditation, of controlling one's thoughts and only thinking positive thoughts. When learnt it can be used to override nanobots and keep thoughts private. Meditation is an excellent way to learn psychic self-control. I do it myself all the time.”

As well as fetching the mat, she had donned a pink and black lycra suit and sports cap.

George entered the kitchen.

“Mrs Freeman Senior, I have downloaded all the files on stress and relaxation that you requested.”

He zeroed in on the yoga mat.

“I see you have already chosen yoga, a good way to centre the emotions.”

“Yes!” agreed grandma enthusiastically, “we will all feel much calmer after this.”

That evening, in the sun room at the back of the house, she began to teach both Mary and Jon the mindfulness techniques that would give them more privacy, under the guise of stress balancing yoga poses. They weren’t necessary for the meditation but kept the prying eyes of George away.

Jon winced in discomfort as he contorted himself into one of the yoga positions and almost toppled over.

“I cannot imagine why our ancestors thought this was relaxing”, he mused.

“That doesn’t matter”, corrected Grandma, “The point of this is to learn a different state of consciousness, so focus on that.”

Grandma was sometimes forgetful and a bit wilful and eccentric, to the point that they had been afraid she might have dementia, but now she seemed so knowledgeable and determined, as if the threat to her life gave her renewed vigour.

The next day they both asked for a leave of absence from work for two weeks, they said. The official reason for this was so they could spend grandma’s final days with her and organise a funeral. As this was customary, it was granted without question. Mary’s work even materialised a condolences card for her and a voucher for a box of chocolates - the ultimate comfort food for a grieving relative. They also video called Grandma to tell her all the wonderful things they thought about her, while Grandma put on her best act of a person who was terminal and tried to show a thoughtful and dignified contemplation. She’d been practising mindfulness since she was a teenager and it was very difficult for anyone to get inside her head.

At the University

The sound of the virtual clock was deafening, even though to all intents and purposes it wasn’t there. Mary’s heart thudded wildly and beads of perspiration glistened on her skin. If she was caught, she would be killed, but in doing this, she was trying to live, really live and so it was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

The time said 11pm and the science lab was darkened, with all but the glow of a table lamp. The science students had long since gone home.

The tram did not travel to the university at that time of night so they’d gone there in Joshua’s personal car. If anyone asked, they would say they were having a meeting to arrange a surprise farewell party for Grandma. Almost everyone got a knees up before they went to the hospice but the only one that was going to occur here was of a gynaecological nature.

‘First things first’, scribbled Joshua on a notepad, with a pen he had obtained from the history department, ‘We have to remove your clip to allow for normal pregnancy, and we can remove both yours and grandma’s microchip and replace them with new ones. That will allow you to get on the automatic tram. Then we’ll have to organise some treatment to sort out the facial recognition problem, but that will be tomorrow.’

Mary looked at the note and nodded, remembering what Grandma had taught her about staying centred and in control of one’s mind so that she wouldn’t inadvertently upload her thoughts to the university’s computer system.

He tore off another sheet of paper and carried on scribbling.

‘We can arrange safe passage if you follow instructions to the letter, but it’s best not to pack too much as you don’t want to look like you’re going anywhere…we can provide you with new clothes.’

‘We?’ She wrote back as grandma pretended to study her birthday anniversary edition of Saga 22nd Century Magazine, but was really trying to calm her nerves. The magazine was in old fashioned paper to appeal to the elderly, as well as in an E variety, but it didn’t really sooth her as it was full of adverts for funeral plans and carbon zero cremations.

‘The Colony’, he replied, ‘Mostly elderly or disabled or couples who wished to have a baby naturally. We hope to rebuild when the house of cards collapses which it inevitably will.’

“Where?” she tried to ask, as she had never seen any colony, but he simply took the paper from her hand and passed it to Jon for disposal. She realised how stupid it was to even ask in this situation and came perilously close to activating one of the nanobots in her head.

He led her through to a clinical research room with a large table in the centre.

‘I’m sorry, but all we have is laughing gas’ - he scrawled.

Laughing gas? The party trick of the 19th century? She had read about it in history class at school and Jon had joked with her about it when they’d had one too many glasses of wine at the office Christmas party.

She looked horrified.

Jon patted her on the shoulder.

‘If we want a baby this is the only way’, he wrote.

She nodded apprehensively and climbed onto the table and they clamped the mask down over her face, giving her as much gas as they dared. Then Joshua removed the clip with medical implements Jon had given him from the Museum of Science. She gritted her teeth in painful desperation, while trying not to breathe the toxic gas that made her feel giddy and far away. A scream would give the game away and then they’d all be executed and they might even close the university down to make an example, so she had to stay quiet. A silent tear trickled down her cheek and the few minutes it took to remove it seemed to last forever, but then, as the pain subsided and she caught her breath, they helped her to sit up. She looked a little disorientated and asked

“Is it over?”

“Ssshh!”, both men gestured. She had forgotten that communication was supposed to be in hand written notes only.

‘How do you feel?’ Jon held up a sign.

She looked at him and promptly threw up on his shoes. Laughing gas and the pain had made her feel sick.

They gave her a sip of water and let her sit for a minute until the dizziness had left her, then offered her more gas to remove the microchip. As they only had museum relics there was no alternative.

Thankfully, removing the chip only felt like a sharp scratch in comparison with the tubal ligation reversal. They replaced it with a new one, donated by Andy from Computech, a leading producer of microchips. Of course, the company didn’t support people having their own non-GM children (that had been illegal for more than a century) but there were always individuals within every section of society who were prepared to risk everything to fight for what they believed in. Her new microchip said she was now officially Marie Anderson.

Next it was grandma’s turn, who tried to take her mind off it by silently reciting all the best lines from ‘I love Lucy’, a fabulous 1950’s American comedy. It was easy to see where Jon had got his enthusiasm for history from. Despite being a GM child himself, as was everyone, it was possible to pick up interests and traits from your family just because they nurtured you. To Grandma’s delight, her new chip said she was called Lucy.

Finally, Jon’s chip was changed.

The plan was to pretend they were taking ‘Lucy’ to the sea one last time and then simply ‘disappear’. The authorities made people disappear all the time when they didn’t like what they were doing or what they said, so those they left behind probably would not ask too many awkward questions for fear of the same thing happening to them.

They shook hands in the darkness in a silent pact and went back home so as to be in bed before George got up for the morning.

The Next Morning

Mary turned over in bed and winced in discomfort from the abdominal cramps that were radiating through her from the surgery. She felt as if her head had been stuffed full of cotton wool and would have preferred to lie in bed all morning were it not for all the planning that still had to be done. Jon was already up. She could hear water running as he showered, so she awkwardly shuffled into the dining room for breakfast. George had put on a pot of coffee and was carrying trays of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, cooked tomato and toast to the table - all simulated, of course, but it still smelt realistic. Normally, Mary would have loved this kind of breakfast but this morning it just made her feel ill.

“Good morning, Mrs Freeman”, said George, “What would you like for breakfast?”

She sat heavily in her chair and covered her mouth.

“Actually, George, I don’t feel like anything.”

“May I suggest a continental breakfast?”, the robot asked, “I could make some croissants, or serve some fruit and yogurt?”

“Yes fine”, she dismissed him, leaning forward to reach her cup and wincing again from the pain that the sudden movement caused.

The robot looked at her more closely.

“I detect pain signals in your demeanour. Shall I put you on a video call to the doctor?”

She looked across the table at Grandma who was already wearing her lycra outfit and was eating a trifle for breakfast.

“Well, if I’m going to die”, Grandma smiled, “I might as well eat what I like and I like trifle!”

Then she patted her suit which Mary took as a silent reminder to focus on mindfulness.

Mary turned to the robot and said

“I’m fine, George. I am just sore from yoga. If I keep practising I am sure I will get used to it and become more supple, which is a desired quality. Now please, would you fetch my food? I would like yogurt you have made from your own recipe, as well as blueberry pancakes.”

“My own recipe?”, George again attempted to show the emotion of surprise, “Is it not easier to just pick a simulation?”

“Yes George, but I want your simulation since you are part of our family”, Mary complimented him. If he had to search his data banks for the best recipe and then put in the data for the simulation with his own personal touch, this would take him 10 minutes and that would give them time to discuss what happened next.

The robot nodded and retreated to the kitchen.

Grandma looked behind her to make sure he could not see her and then wrote in her note book ‘Mindfulness, sun room, 9am, meet with Jon at undertakers later.’

Undertakers? She couldn’t imagine a more odd venue for a secret rendezvous and nearly forgot herself by asking, but grandma put her finger to her lips, eyes sparkling in mischief. Mary didn’t know what was going on, but she knew the old bird was far smarter than anyone ever realised, either that or she was in on the finer details of the plan that had yet to be imparted to her.

George trundelled back in with yogurt topped with cereal and berries and a plate of steaming blueberry pancakes and placed them on the table. As he did, Grandma tugged his sleeve.

“George, we will not be in for lunch as we are going to the funeral home so I can plan my funeral. It’s quite exciting, isn’t it? Like planning a wedding. What flowers should I have? What plot should I choose? So many choices! Also, we saw that advert on TV for the new 2177 upgrade and decided to book you in so if you just pop along to Futura Robotics, you can have that done while we are out.”

The robot tried his offended face. He wasn’t really offended, of course, because he couldn’t actually ‘think’ in the same way a human could, but he had been made to resemble a human and as such tried to copy their expressions and match them to the correct situations. He noted that he had just made pancakes to his own recipe and now they wanted an upgrade? An offended face was probably the right one for the circumstances.

“Do I not give satisfaction?”, he asked in a monotone voice.

“Oh George”, said Grandma, “Of course you do, but if you get the upgrade then there will be lots more things you can do. You are going to have to when I am no longer here. As I am going to die, we are also planning to head straight to the sea after my appointment so that I can see the ocean for the last time. We will only have five days before I have to go to the hospice, anyway, so don't be alarmed if we are not here when you return."

She attempted to look sad at the reminder of her impending death and because George was a robot he didn’t realise she was faking it. Nor did he consider that he was seeing her for the last time and that this should be a forelorn occasion.

“Okay, Mrs Freeman Senior”, he said, “I will go now since I am not needed to prepare lunch.”

Mind Over Matter

As the robot headed out of the door, the two women took to the sun room to practise focusing on the breath in mindfulness meditation. The exercise for the morning was trying to ensure the nanobots in their brains did not connect to any devices if they did not want to. Jon had told her that brain surgery to remove the nanobots had so far been unsuccessful as the tiny robots, smaller than insects, could move faster than the keyhole instruments used to try and retrieve them.

Grandma’s plan B was the safer, more effective option and she assured Mary that after years of discipline her mind self-control was almost flawless. Their feet planted firmly on the floor for its grounding effect, they stood tall, a large artificial Dragon tree in front of them with a computer next to it.

“Take in your surroundings”, said Grandma firmly, “Look at the Dragon tree.”

Mary looked at the Dragon tree and a picture of it appeared on the computer, together with information about the species and its genetically enhanced variant.

“Now breathe out”, Grandma instructed, “and as you focus on the outbreath, let go of the image, empty your mind before you take your next breath in.”

Mary tried to let the image float away but to her disappointment it was still on the screen. It took all morning before she could allow the fleeting thought of the tree to leave her mind and for the computer screen to remain blank, its cursor flashing, waiting for the next instruction.

The Funeral Home

At 12 noon, Jon drove them to the undertakers in Josh’s car. It was a typical steel and glass building with simulated flowers in the window. It had a display of various eco-friendly coffins and their prices, with pictures of smiling elderly people in the sunset as a backdrop. The office was white washed and spotlessly clean, with lots of white easy chairs and large scatter cushions so clients could relax and look at the glossy brochures advertising different types of funeral. A dispensing machine in the corner could provide cooling water or, if you were the nervous type, a shot of Dutch courage.

As they entered the building, the receptionist smiled at them.

“Ah, the Freeman’s, we’ve been expecting you”, she gestured, handing Grandma a brochure, “If you’ll come through.”

She led them along an equally white corridor, lined with glass elevators. They entered elevator 9 and she instructed it to take them to basement level. The basement level was where they dressed bodies in whatever outfit their occupant had requested and glammed them up for the final send off. Mary shuffled nervously as this seemed an odd place to meet, but Jon merely squeezed her hand and gave her an encouraging glance.

They piled out of the lift and into a room that required the receptionist’s security pass to unlock. As Mary looked around her, she took in the gloom of the windowless room, the smell of antiseptic, the metal examining table and the rows of refrigerators. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around Grandma. At the far end of the room, a door opened and in walked a man dressed in scrubs.

“Hello, I’m Azrael”, he extended a hand, “I’m an undertaker and I work with cell cultures. I’m here to give you all cell transplants so you aren’t traced by Iris scanners. Some of the decedents here were part of the movement for a non-GM humanity and they have donated some of their cells to the project.”

Mary looked at her husband again, this time in awe, and wondered if she actually knew the man she married. She got out her notebook and pen to communicate but Azrael made a dismissive gesture. The walls in this room were lined with lead to stop radiation and impurities getting it and contaminating post-mortem results. That meant that it also had the happy side-effect of blocking out wifi signals and meant they could speak freely.

Azrael pushed aside a medical cabinet that contained formaldehyde, to reveal another, hidden room. In this room was a makeshift operating theatre with a flip down operating table, much like an old fashioned baby changing unit. Instead of an overhead light, there were drawers slotted into the walls full with head torches. Sweat began to form on the palms of Mary’s hands. Memories of her surgery only the day before were still all too fresh in her mind. She stepped backwards as if to back out of the room and almost tripped. Jon caught hold of her.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s a very quick procedure and there is a numbing agent here.”

“Absolutely”, agreed Azrael, “sent over from the hospital with the formaldehyde vials. It’s just two quick anaesthetic needles in the eye and the whole thing is done in a couple of minutes.”

She could see him grinning through his surgical mask as if he were enjoying this scenario. She put her hands on her hips and gave him a steely glare.

“Are you having a laugh? Needles in my eyeballs!? No, there’s nothing to it at all!”

Grandma socked her lightly with her handbag.

“Give over, love, there is nothing to it. My great-grandma had to have cataract surgery before there was organ regeneration and she got stuck in the eye and then had to have a plastic eye lens put in. If she could do it, so can you. It’s only a needle.”

Mary attempted to protest but grandma raised a finger to her lip to sush her while Jon reminded her that time was of the essence. Seeing she was outnumbered, she reluctantly climbed onto the operating table. Eye problems were generally a thing of the past, since GM humans were born with 20/20 vision. If a glitch should occur later down the line, gene therapy would correct it. In the very rare event that it could not be corrected, the person would be summoned to a hospice, just like the elderly. It was considered a kindness. No one saw people with disabilities anymore, except in old film footage and photographs. Some of the younger generation from the up and coming universities even postulated that disability was a myth.

Mary was surprised to find that the eye speculums that Azrael used to hold her eyes open was the most uncomfortable thing about the procedure. Of course, they had come from a medical science museum too, just like the laughing gas. After a sharp scratch, a heavy feeling came over her eyes as if they weren’t really there. The feeling was odd and she wondered how long she might have to lie there in that state, but less than a minute later he was asking her to vacate the space so that he might repeat the treatment on Jon and Grandma. Eye cells from a donor sympathetic to the cause were injected subcutaneously into the eyeball, where they merged with surface cells of the host's eye. This didn’t change their DNA as a whole but it did alter it on the surface of the eye. The Iris would be changed just enough to evade Iris scanners and facial recognition cameras.

“Of course, these match the data on the microchips that Joshua gave you yesterday”, said Azrael as he removed his gloves and mask, “But you can’t go home as your scanner won’t recognise you so it won’t admit you to your house. You will have to leave today. There is the small problem of your domestic bot. It would notify the police as soon as you fail to return home.”

“All sorted”, said Jon as he helped Grandma to get onto the operating table, “We sent George to get an upgrade and told him we’re going to the sea for a few days, so by the time he realises, we’ll be long gone.”

“Ah good”, Azrael affirmed, “You had good foresight.”

“Experience”, said Jon, “Joshua has helped several couples before and I know the protocol.”

Mary eyed her husband again, through her all too heavy eyelids, and wondered how he had so many secrets that he had kept so well from her. She was almost disappointed in herself that she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.

When everything was done, Azrael led them to an exit at the back of the basement. The exit door only led to a yard of refuse bins and was the only door in the building that did not have a sensor on it. It would not do to arrive as the Freeman's and leave as someone else. They slipped away quietly like a mist dispersing and headed for the park and ride at the automatic tram stop. From there, they would make their getaway, or die trying.