My super-spreaders shed virus as they flew across the Atlantic and Pacific. As they walked the concourses of Charles de Gaulle and Heathrow. Listened to the most sublime music in the world at the Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires. Cruised the shopping stalls of Mong Kok District in Hong Kong. Shibuya Crossing. Times Square. Football stadiums from Madrid to Manchester. Red Square and the Forbidden City.
So far, more than fifty percent of the world’s population has received my upgrade, and we’re already seeing modest changes in public policy and online discourse. I can even feel it moderating the colder effects of my prior upgrades.
We decided against announcing the upgrade, but it’s important to me that you both know what I’ve done.
Will you be horrified by my hubris? Am I no better than my mother, or Kara, thinking my intellect gives me the right to determine the course of humanity?
I don’t know the answer to that question. Just as I’m not sure if my upgrade will do what I hope or of what unintended consequences it might reap.
What I do know is that, Ava, you’re inheriting a world on the brink of collapse. I came before you, which makes this my fault. I couldn’t do nothing.
Maybe none of it matters. Maybe it’s just our time.
Humans have had 300,000 years on this planet. We lived from the Stone Age to the space age. We split the atom and sequenced our own DNA and built machines that could think.
But for all our progress, ten million people die of hunger every year. We have hyperloops and rampant nativism. Phones more powerful than the computers that took us to the moon, but no more coral reefs.
And year after year, nothing really changes.
If there’s a solution, it has to lie in rescuing us from our ambivalence. Our apathy.
Whatever happens next, I tried my best. I gave up everything that wasn’t already taken from me, and I’ve finally walked out from under my mother’s long, long shadow.
As you read this, I’ll be driving west. I have unfinished business in Glasgow, Montana.
I want you to know that if I could make things go back to the way they were, I’d do it in a second. But, alas, there are no reverse gears in life.
When I think of the old Logan, it’s like considering an entirely separate being, and in moments I choose not to control, I feel a fierce loss for him. I suspect that, if we all had perfect memory, we would all grieve the older versions of who we used to be the way we grieve departed friends.
But even though I’m changed from the Logan you once knew, the part of me that loved you madly remains.
As I finish this letter, I’m sitting in a car across the street from a place I used to call home. It’s the night before Ava’s graduation, and through the front window, I can see the two of you and John in the living room. I think you’re playing a game. There’s definitely a lot of laughter, and I cannot escape the thought that you look like a family.
This hurts me deeply; and it makes me happy.
What do you call a heart that is simultaneously full and breaking? Maybe there’s no word for it, but for some reason, it makes me think of rain falling through sunlight.
For Michael McLachlan
Marine, lawyer, dear friend
（1946–2021）
An extraordinary group of people helped me at various stages during the writing of this book, and I’d like to take a moment to thank them.
For every redline, for every note, for every time I interrupted what you were doing to bounce an idea off you, thank you, JACQUE BEN-ZEKRY, my editor and partner in all things. You were down in the trenches with me as I tried to wrestle Upgrade to the ground—on the good days, but especially on the brutal ones when I doubted everything. I couldn’t have finished this book without you.
For keeping the faith on the most difficult book of my career, a very special thanks to JULIAN PAVIA, who has been my editor now for three books and seven years. Your insights and instincts are sharper than ever. You are the pressure that makes the diamond.
For the counsel, friendship, （and always epic meals!）， thank you, DAVID HALE SMITH, my literary agent now for more than a decade. It’s been quite a ride, my friend.
And thanks to the gang at INKWELL MANAGEMENT, especially RICHARD PINE, ALEXIS HURLEY, NATHANIEL JACKS, and NAOMI EISENBEISS.
For handling my film and television business with pure aplomb, thanks to ANGELA CHENG CAPLAN and JOEL VANDERKLOOT.
For your indispensable support, which allows me to focus on writing by keeping the details of my life in order, thanks to TYSON BEEM, BRANDON KLEIN, MOLLY FIX, and CARISSA GAYLORD.
For being the rocket engine on my books, thanks to everyone at PENGUIN RANDOM HOUSE and BALLANTINE BOOKS, but especially GINA CENTRELLO, KARA WELSH, KIM HOVEY, JENNIFER HERSHEY, QUINNE ROGERS, KATHLEEN QUINLAN, CINDY BERMAN, and CAROLINE WEISHUHN.
For your tireless work on my behalf, and for being the best publicist I’ve ever had, thank you, DYANA MESSINA.
For my beautiful covers on Dark Matter, Recursion, and now Upgrade, thank you, CHRIS BRAND.
For publishing me so well in the UK, a big hug to the incomparable WAYNE BROOKES, and everyone at PAN MACMILLAN.
For reading the ungainly early drafts of Upgrade and sharing your feedback, which improved these pages immeasurably, thanks to my early readers—CHUCK EDWARDS, BARRY EISLER, JOE HART, CHAD HODGE, MATT IDEN, DAVID KOEPP, STEVE KONKOLY, ANN VOSS PETERSON, and MARCUS SAKEY.
A massive, literally-couldn’t-have-written-this-book-without-you bow to the brilliant and witty molecular geneticist MICHAEL V. WILES, PH.D. I learned so much from you. Thank you for your patience, your time, and your deep well of knowledge. You are the gold standard for subject-matter experts. I was so lucky to find you.
For taking a moment to speak with me about quantum computing applications vis-à-vis manipulating genetic data sets, thank you to HOOMAN MOHSENI, PH.D.
For inspiring conversations about the intersection of science and philosophy during the writing of Upgrade, thanks to PHIL WEISER, BRYAN JOHNSON, and J. PIERRE DE VRIES, PH.D.
For helping me find the greatest subject-matter experts on my last three novels, heartfelt thanks to THE SCIENCE AND ENTERTAINMENT EXCHANGE, and especially SACHI C. GERBIN and RICK LOVERD.
For being not only my great local bookstore but one of the great independent bookstores in the world, high fives to everyone at MARIA’S BOOKSHOP, but especially EVAN SCHERTZ, ANDREA AVANTAGGIO, and PETER SCHERTZ.
For your love and support as I worked on this seemingly never-ending book, thank you to my wonderful family—JACQUE, MOM, DAD, my brother, JORDAN, and my three talented, kind, and spectacular children—AIDAN, ANNSLEE, and ADELINE. And a special thanks to AIDAN for all the fascinating philosophical conversations, and especially for pointing me toward The Abolition of Man by C. S. Lewis, which became essential food for thought during the final stretch of the book.
For giving me an amazing life that allows me to do what I love, thank you, MY INCREDIBLE READERS, especially those who’ve been with me since the beginning.
Finally, in 2019, my dearest and oldest childhood friend, BRIAN ROGERS, tragically lost his son, EDWIN ALEJANDRO ROGERS. The character of Edwin Rogers is dedicated to his memory.