Yared Zerezghi — 2124

For the first time since their arrangement had begun, Yared was greeted at his own door, rather than at the coffee shop down on the corner.

He had yet to start his day, instead reveling in the cool quiet of the morning, before the sun levered itself up over the roof of his building to shine through his window and before the thrum of the air conditioning took over. The cool, the quiet, his pillow, his sheets, and the blessed nullity of not yet being awake enough to think, to worry.

At least the knock on his door was polite.

He hurried to throw on his clothes and kick his bed into something resembling a made state, toss last night’s take-out container in the trash, and rub the last of the sleep from his eyes before answering the door.

“Mr. Zerezghi.” Councilor Demma’s driver nodded cordially. “The councilor would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

At your earliest convenience seemed to imply right now, so Yared nodded and kicked on his sandals to follow the suit out of the hallway and into the street. The pavement and buildings had yet to start to bake, but he could tell that it would be another day of hiding inside, or skittering from one air-conditioned place to another.

If I make it through this, he thought.

Demma’s car was parked down the block and on the other side of the street, and Yared was pleased to see a carrier with three paper coffee cups in it sitting on the roof. If nothing else, he’d be able to wake up a little, and that would provide him some semblance of normalcy to this strange shift in protocol.

“Yared, wonderful to see you. I trust you are alright?” Demma said, once he was seated in the car, coffee in hand. It felt far too chilly.

“I’m well, councilor. I wasn’t expecting to talk until later today.”

The politician waved the statement away and nodded toward the driver, who slid the car smoothly out into the street and drove towards, Yared assumed, the city center.

“I must apologize for waking you early. Please, enjoy your coffee for a moment. I am happy to enjoy the scenery for a while.”

Something about that statement, or perhaps Demma’s tone of voice, made it sound more like a command than a suggestion, so Yared did just that, sipping on his coffee as it cooled as his mind raced. Did I do something wrong? Am I being taken to prison? No, almost certainly not, if Councilor Demma is here. Why am I being made to wait? Am I supposed to feel uncomfortable, or does he actually just want me awake?

After Yared finished his coffee and set his cup aside, Demma smiled.

“Mr. Zerezghi, I would like to thank you for all of your work on the project at hand. I believe that we have both seen the ways in which it is shaping the discussion on our small part of the ‘net, yes? There are other forces at work, to be sure, but your voice is loud, and our little faction is adding in resources behind the scenes, as you have no doubt noticed.”

Yared nodded, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“I would, however, like to know the identity of who your contacts are, sys-side.”

He tilted his head. “What? Why?”

Demma sighed and set aside his own coffee. “I have a suspicion that I know who one of them is, and I would like confirmation of that. I would appreciate if you would tell me, so that I do not need to tip my hand and send you hunting him down. You understand.”

“I suppose.” Yared bit his lip and considered the possible consequences of sharing the names of his contacts, deciding that if he shared just one, that perhaps that would be enough without compromising the identity of both. “You say ‘he’. The man that I’m in discussions with is named Jonas. Is that the one you’re thinking of?”

The councilor sighed and slouched back into the cushy microfiber seat. “Yes. I was afraid of that.”

“How so?”

“He is a very slippery man, Yared. While I suppose that it’s nice that his goals align with ours on the issue of rights and secession — I can read between the lines as well as he can, I know who he’s tapped phys-side — that is not always guaranteed to be the case.” He finished his own coffee and accepted Yared’s cup when offered to dispose of in the trash. “Slippery and manipulative. I worry that you are at risk of being played by him, of becoming his puppet.”

Aren’t I already yours? he thought. Instead, he said, “He seems friendly enough, but I guess I can see how that might be used to guide me. He hasn’t asked for any favors or anything, at least.”

“And have you told him about our little agreement?” When Yared quailed under Demma’s gaze, the councilor shook his head. “I cannot say I’m pleased, Mr. Zerezghi, but I’m also not particularly surprised.”

Yared wiped his palms against his thighs, shaking his head. “He guessed, councilor. He asked, and even knew it was you. I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think there’s anything I could have done to stop him from doing that.”

“Oh, did he now?” Demma’s laugh was earnest. “I’m not particularly surprised at that, either, and I suppose it does let you off the hook somewhat, doesn’t it?”

All he could think to do was nod.

“Well, if Jonas Anderson has figured out what we’re up to, that does change things somewhat. I know that our latest suggestion was that you mention independence for the first time. I’d like to modify that somewhat, if you haven’t already written your post.”

“Not yet. I was going to do it this morning before our usual meeting.”

“Yes, well, do hold off for a little longer. I would like you to change it so that you quote Jonas in mentioning independence. Do keep his name out of your posts, of course. It’s probably best that he remain your ‘friend’ and not ‘one of the slickest politicians in the Western Federation’ when people read what you have to say.” Demma smiled kindly, adding, “And if I may ask you a favor, please don’t consult him about this post before you send it. You’re welcome to keep talking with him and whoever his companion is, we won’t restrict your access to that. Perhaps they’re even another copy of him. I just want to hear what his reaction is when you put the word ‘independence’ in his mouth.”

“Of course, sir.”

Nodding, the councilor said, “Thank you, Yared. I’m glad to see that we are more on the same page, now. Stay wary of Jonas Anderson, maintain your friendship, and keep me up to date about the things that he says that don’t make it into your posts. As long as our goals align, we should be able to work together through you.”

“You won’t talk to him?” Yared asked.

“That’s far to risky for my current position. It’s plausibly deniable that you were already talking to him before we reached our agreement, should that agreement be made public. It’s true enough, isn’t it? If I were to talk to him, though…” He trailed off with a shrug and a half-smile.

“I understand.”

“I’m glad that you do.” Demma flicked his eyes up to the driver’s rear-view mirror, and the car slid to a halt in a parking spot. “Mr. Zerezghi, a pleasure as always. We will be keeping an eye out for your post later today.”

Yared sat up, looking out through the window at the outskirts of the financial district. It would easily be an hour’s walk back to his apartment, and about as long of a bus-ride. He didn’t even have his phone.

The councilor was already holding his hand out to shake, so there seemed to be no argument that this is where he should leave. He shook the hand, climbed out of the car, and watched it slide off into traffic once more.

Trudging to the nearest bus stop, he thought, I suppose as long as this is the only punishment that I get, I shouldn’t be too concerned.

At least the bus was air conditioned, and it gave him time to draft his post in his head.

I cannot express just how pleased I am to say that I have no arguments to dispute, this time!

It’s tempting to slack off in one’s campaigning when things start to swing one’s way, but even I know that complacency will provide a wedge for dissenters to gain a foothold, so, despite the heat, I’m back with another of my posts. You’ll all have to live with me so long as this issue is on the table, and doubtless, you’ll have to keep living with me once I pick up my next little fixation. Both friends and foes will understand, even if their opinions of that fact differ.

Today, then, instead of refuting arguments, I’d just like to express some of my gratitude and provide an overview of what is going on and why it is that I’m so pleased.

First, I’m happy to see that the argument about speciation has all but stopped as an argument about independence. Oh, sure, it continues elsewhere on the ‘net, but it’s been all but dropped from the comments about this referendum. It remains fascinating to many of us, of course. The more I talk with my friends sys-side, the more I find myself split on the idea, and even they seem to have their own opinions on it. One of them said, “Who even cares? We’re still ourselves,” to which the other responded, “Right, but just think about how much of a wrench that it will throw into evolution.”

Second, I’m happy to see the amendment to move the System to the L₅ station has been tacked onto the bill. It’s mostly a formality, at this point. Those who work with the System phys-side have already signed a deal with the launch coordinators, and the amendment is simply to recognize that this is the case from a governmental point of view. It may make talking to my friends somewhat more difficult, due to the transmission delay, but I’m sure we’ll survive. When I joked to them that, in space, no one can hear their ceaseless banter, they agreed that it was probably for the best, and said that they were looking forward to moving to cooler climes.

Last, of course, I’m pleased to see the interest that the world’s governments are taking in the issue. Sure, that means that our role here on the DDR is diminished, but it is not gone. We have as much a say in the legislation as any one of them does. This is where my caution about not slacking off will pay off. We have the S-R Bloc on our side, and the various African coalitions are drifting that way as well. The Western Fed seems to be cautiously on board. But we are still waiting on hearing from the middle eastern countries, Japan, and SEAPAC, which means that we will need to stay vigilant. While I suspect that Japan will side with individual rights, and the middle east will remain largely apathetic, I have no idea which way SEAPAC will swing, so our vote must still be counted among them as a voice in favor of the referendum.

Now, instead of arguing any further points, I’d like to provide you with something lighter. I know that many enjoy the little snippets of conversation that I have with my friends sys-side, so I’m going to share a bit more of that with you. It’s fun, yes, but I hope that it will continue to build empathy with them and their existence, even if I am not any good at writing anything beyond polemics on the ‘net. As always, I will be protecting their identities, so I will go with John and Tara for their names.

When John joked about moving to the coldness of space, I, naturally, complained about the heat.

“How hot is it there?” he asked.

I said, “Right now? About 43C.”

Tara said, “Yeowch. That is far too warm.” (This is not actually what she said. She has quite a mouth on her, but I will soften that for the sake of propriety.)

John said, “You’re covered almost entirely in black fur. You’d be warm in Antarctica.”

She responded, “Well, yes, I am here. If I were actually in Antarctica, however, I would not be covered by fur that is a part of my body. A fur coat might be nice, however.”

I asked, “How does that work, anyway? Do you feel like a human except in a different shape?”

Her response was a while in coming. “Yes and no. I look different, to be sure. Anyone who has seen a furry can probably imagine what that means. My av on the ‘net allowed me some sensation of that, in that I was provided with a vague sense of touch on my tail, and the sensation of my ears had been moved higher up on my head to approximate the location where the ears of [my species] are located. Having a muzzle worked well enough. Here, though, the proprioception is complete in a way that an avatar could not hope to be. It made the avatar feel more like a set of clothes and a mask than it did an actual form. Here, it is my form. It made my avatar feel almost cartoonish, with the standard fur patterns a bit too exact and the claws on my fingers nearly identical. Here it can be — must be — as detailed as I would like. My claws wear at different rates, fur colors mingle organically. That is a sign of aposematism, did you know that? It is a warning to those who would attack to stay away. I could even smell like my species, should I choose, though I have not.”

John said, “Confirmed. She smells like flowers.”

I asked, “Why did you choose that form?”

She said, “Because I wanted to and I could. It is what I am used to from my time before uploading. I think that I originally chose it for that concept of aposematism. I had probably gone through a bad breakup and was looking for something that said, “Stay away, I am independent.” I had terrible luck with relationships.”

John said, “She’s more independent than is good for her, sometimes.”

As this was the point in the conversation that I figured I might include it in a post, I guided it toward the topic at hand, saying, “Is that why you’re so interested in individual rights?”

Tara said, “Yes, in a way. You have to understand, though, that many of the arguments against them that you have shared sound mind-boggling at best, impossible at worst.”

John said, “We’re more independent than I think a lot of people phys-side give us credit for. You keep talking of us as though we’re almost a separate country, and honestly, you’re not wrong. We’ve been questioning what the reasoning is for retaining dual citizenship other than for governments that essentially have no power over us to claim the rights to whatever it is we send out. We’re ungovernable by conventional standards, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone does file a referendum for us to drop the pretense and become our own country in the next few months.”

I asked, “If you did, would you participate alongside the other world governments?”

John said, “Maybe on some things, but we wouldn’t be able to relate to much in the way of legislation.”

Tara said, “If we do, John will have to be the representative. He is the politician.”

John replied, “You keep saying you’re not a politician like that does anything to convince people that you are anything but, my dear.”

I let them banter for a bit. The only other salient point was brought up by John, who said, “If a vote for independence does show up, make sure you vote for it. It’ll make all of our lives so, so much easier.”

So, that was our conversation. I hope that this helps you understand a bit more what the lives of those who live sys-side are like. They joke around. They have strong opinions. They can look like anthropomorphic animals if they want. Who cares if they’re human? Who cares if their bodies have died? They’re just as real as any of us, and they deserve all of the same rights.

Vote for the granting of rights. Vote yes on referendum 10b30188.

Yared Zerezghi (NEAC)

He read over his post a few times to make sure it looked alright, then hit post and immediately backed out from his rig. He knew that he’d come back to messages from Jonas and True Name. He couldn’t guess at what their tone would be, but he knew that he wasn’t ready to deal with them.

He just knew that he needed something spicy to eat and at least two glasses of wine.