“Do you have a transmissible version yet?” I asked, part of me afraid to hear the answer.
“Soon.”
Dear god. I’d suspected as much, but to hear it confirmed…
She said, “I’m using modified HEK293 cells to grow high titers of the upgrade-carrying virus.”
I nodded. HEK293 was a strain of human embryonic kidney cells, widely used for decades in the gene-tech industry because of how easily they were grown and how efficiently they could be transfected with foreign DNA. Exactly what I would’ve used.
She placed the chicken on the stovetop’s cast-iron griddle.
“What’s the projected R-naught number?”
“Eight-point-seven, with subjects shedding virus within fifteen days from the initial exposure.”
That was a very big number. In virology, the R0 （R-naught） indicates the contagion level of a given illness. It’s the number of cases expected to be caused by a single infected person. Measles, the most contagious virus known to humankind, has an R0 of 12 to 18, which means that each infected person would be expected to infect 12 to 18 others. By comparison, the Spanish flu of 1918, which killed fifty million, had a much lower R0 of between 1.4 to 2.8. COVID-19 had been around 5.7.
I said, “If you expose every human being to the upgrade, and if the Glasgow percentages hold, you’re talking about killing a billion people. That won’t keep you up at night?”
“Fuck yeah it’ll keep me up at night. But it’d be selfish not to do what needs to be done just because it plagues the remnants of my conscience. We have this moment to right the ship. Either we upgrade our collective intelligence to a level where we can all band together and save ourselves, or the next century will be humanity’s last.”
She turned back to the chicken. It had taken a good sear. Kara used tongs to move the pieces into the white wine sauce, then she topped it all with fresh herbs.
“Where are you finalizing the upgrade?” I asked.
She just smiled at me. “It’s time to plate. Go pick the wine. Cellar’s behind you.”
I waited until she actually began plating the food before sliding off the stool.
Mom’s wine cellar was a stone-walled, climate-controlled walk-in. After a little deliberation, I chose a Cabernet Sauvignon from a winery near Walla Walla, Washington. It had been my favorite region before it burned.
Kara had our steaming plates on the dining room table as I walked out with the bottle, and when she saw it, she said, “Year of your birth. Nice choice.”
We sat across from each other, and I placed the Kimber on the bench beside me.
The food was superb. The night closed in—nothing but darkness through the windows and the firelight from the hearth flickering on the walls.
Kara looked at me. “Is it that you don’t believe we’re in trouble?”
“No.” I took another bite of the excellent chicken. “I see what Mom saw. I know what’s coming. And it haunts me.”
“So why aren’t we working together?”
“What if this isn’t the solution? What if you end up killing a billion people for no reason? What if you just end up creating a world of Miriam Ramsays—all convinced they know what’s best, all capable of inflicting unimaginable harm if they’re wrong? What if you create a bunch of people who are just drastically better at what they already were. Soldiers. Criminals. Politicians. Capitalists.”
She took the smallest sip of wine and stared at me across the live-edge table, where I imagined my mother had consumed many a lonely meal. Or maybe they hadn’t been lonely at all. Maybe she’d loved her solitude and the company of her own mind.
I continued, “You’re working off a flawed assumption. Higher intelligence doesn’t make you less greedy or self-centered or evil. It doesn’t necessarily make you a good person.”
“I’m not saying it will solve everything. It’s not a magic wand. But if we can give people the power to see the world as it really is, and the intelligence to do something about it, won’t we at least be giving ourselves a chance? Don’t we owe our species that? Look, I get it. You want to know what the future holds. You need to know beforehand that we’re making the right choice. But you can’t.”
“Show me proof this upgrade will fix the problems you say it will. Show me your rigorous testing and data.”
“I know I’ve changed for the better. I have to trust that most people I upgrade will experience a similar transformation.”
“So in the end, you’re basing this all on your belief?”
“We’re out of time, Logan. All we can do is try our best to use the facts at our disposal and examine our motives. I’ve looked at mine. I wouldn’t be doing it for money or fame. Not for power or posterity.”
“What reason then? Because you think it’s right?”
“Right and wrong are constructs born of human sentiment. Nothing but stories we’ve made up and assigned meaning to. They don’t correspond to any objective reality. The only thing real is survival.”
I said, “Maybe compassion and empathy are just squishy emotions. Illusions created by our mirror neurons. But does it really matter where they come from? They make us human. They might even be what make us worth saving.”
“Come on, Logan. Enough with the abstractions. Maybe you didn’t believe our time was up back in New Mexico, but you do now. And you know we can’t just let it happen.” Kara raised her wineglass. “Are you with me or not?”
I lifted my wineglass and touched it against hers, and as we drank, I held eye contact with my sister, all the while reaching slowly, so slowly, for the Kimber— Plates, glassware, decanter, wine bottle, food, silverware—everything crashed down onto me, as the full weight of the table knocked me back onto the floor, smashing down into my chest.
I’d never seen it coming. She hadn’t betrayed the slightest hint of her intent, but of course she’d read across my face that she had failed to convince me.
I squirmed out from underneath the table, finally getting a grip on my pistol.
“Stop!”
Kara turned slowly around and froze in the pass-through to the living room, absolutely still. I searched her hands for a weapon. They were empty.
She looked at me with a sudden, startling intensity. “I love you, Logan. I’m giving you every chance. Don’t make me do this. I know it’s just sentiment, but I don’t want to have to lose you too.”
I aimed the Kimber at my sister’s left leg, expecting a glimmer of sadness or fear, but her face remained utterly impassive.
“Where are you purifying the virus?”
She said, “Ava is inheriting a dying world. I can see in your face that you—”
“Of course I hate it!” My voice echoed through the silent house.
“So why are you pointing a gun at me?”
“Because there has to be another way.”
“Great. What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, while you think about it, I’m actually going to do something.”
“Where are you purifying the virus?”
She just stared at me.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said.