The singularity was so close. So fucking close. Just a couple more decades, a couple more cooling centers, a couple more people with the cunningness and drive to make it happen. There was the release of the nano-healers from prototype to test centers, the two-hundred forty HD resolution cameras, enough to document upload each neuron and glia for future reproduction, the heat-growth and bio-electric stimulation of the pig fetuses, closer and closer and closer to representing the brain with an error of less than zero point zero zero zero zero zero zero one cubic microns per cell. Then the gulf stream stopped.

The gulf stream slowed and stopped, and any progress on the singularity slowed and stopped with it. The cooling centers were abandoned, the nano healers became obsolete and buggy, the pig fetus brains died in their tubes, and eighty million refugees made the far trek across the frozen nation to the Pacific.

We took them in. And they stopped the singularity. No more research, no more water to the cooling centers. No. All resources go to the refugees. Fucking California. That's how it has always operated. A futuristic gloss, a reckless optimism, no courage to complete what they set out to do. By now humanity should be floating in space, trillions of data points sent to far planets unwavering and immortal. Fire off the shoulder of Orion. Now progress has stopped. Now we're stuck mortal, like every other beast of the Earth.

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Eighty million refugees in eighteen months. An additional four million every year starting eight years before the Gulf stream and continuing six years afterwards. Three million for the next seven. Two million for the next ten. Now it's one million. More than two hundred million refugees, all in one state. A state partially sunk into the ground. A state with more and more and more aquifer pumps reaching marble bedrock, with desalination plants overwhelmed and collapsing. North of the state there's free flowing rivers. There's power plants, agriculture, luxury crops like grapes and peaches and cattle. Even a couple salmon runs left. Why should seven million bathe and two-hundred fifty two million starve? Why should water be used to support obsolete species in lieu of immortality?

The number's stuck at one million. No matter how perilous we make the journey, how many patrols we send, it's stuck at one million. It's unsustainable. Twenty gallons per citizen, four gallons per New Zion, half a gallon per refugee. No one should live off of that. No one can live off of that.

I send drones and tell them to make the bodies visible. I know most call me inhumane, I know some call me monster, but they haven't performed the calculations. Resources are finite. Calories are finite. Water is finite. One million is unsustainable. Our methods are not working. Our harangment and barriers and soft deportations are not working. They come one million unwavering immovable. Weep and curse and shed tears as you see the bodies but know there are certain immutable truths that govern how many can be supported and how many cannot.

They had to do horrible things to make it here. They themselves more than anyone else recognize that. I have read the reports, seen the aerial footage. Black gallon water bottles scattered in the red clay soil. Clothes shredded and stuck on bushes. Bodies on every road, trail, amputated, beastly. Vultures exist where there is no more water. They themselves more than anyone else understand why I do what I do. If they didn't they wouldn't have made it this far.

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I was one of the last gene-edits. One of the last surviving too. All the rest, well, to be frank, are disabled. Pawing at the walls. Chewing on the keratin planes. The first batch was rough. Real rough. Most of the clinical trials took place in New Zion, where the prerogative of the state was contradictory. No one from there recognizes that. They banned those of African or Latino heritage because of the third book but allowed fetuses to have segments of their chromosomes removed and extorted the mothers afterward for euthanasia fees. They banned alcohol but endorsed the manufacture of amphetamine salts. Asinine. No wonder every gringo was insane.

Insane gringos are useful. More useful than refugees. He tells me to scour the forums and there they lurk, an army disillusioned, discovered their world is a world of fire and blood where each of them in their own way was broken. Grasping at every theory to explain why New Zion is no more, why the shining cities and temples were razed to house the cursed child of Hamm. I provide them theories. I provide them sources. I provide them with enough full truths and half truths for them to trust me. March seventeenth seven bodies will appear on the road. March twenty third a grandmother and her son will appear on the highway. They call me Wallace. Insane gringos are useful. Insane gringos who owe you are indispensable.

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On the path to immortality mortal blood shall be shed. No one was brave enough to shed that blood. They outsourced it, paid New Zion for the gene edits, took in refugees who could do no more than stop progress, and immortality died, and the proponents became mortal. Dead. Beasts of the earth shiny and chrome.

Plug in certain criteria and the bot found the replicant to light the Pale Fire. Associate's degree in chemistry from University of Seoul-Merced online. Seven years prison time. Confirmed member of Aryan Brotherhood. Confirmed munitions manufacturing experience. Confirmed presence on the forums. Distance from target location forty four miles. Recidivism probability ninety two percent plus or minus zero point two. Do favors for him. Make him dependent on you. He's not as dumb as his appearance would lead you. Understands the water isn't free. Understands the purchase of his product isn't free. Goes along with everything, because like me, like everyone, he hopes for change.

I cash in on my favor. I deliver the truck to him, the uniform, the I.D. preloaded with credentials and automatic facial recognition. I tell him the coordinates. I trust him to figure the rest out. They will not do what's required. They give refugees water, only enforce soft deportations, hear no talk of the cooling center, of the healing nanobots, of the artificial brains. All resources go to the refugees. Mortal beasts of the Earth. On the path to immortality mortal blood shall be shed. Why try to save those who will die? If time is truly infinite their life is nothing. Not even a rounding error. Why obstruct immortality for those who can do nothing but perish?

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I don't think it's racist to say there's an optimal human. Genes and mutations inside of the womb, even upbringing determine your faults and your strengths. The clinical trials honed the most important parameters. Left a regiment of institutionalized like his brother. Once we invaded and saw them six to a room naked covered in fluids amputated, beastly, California could not drum up the courage to gaze upon its exported problems and banned the program. Disassembled the radiation machines, encrypted the data files. Cowards. Millions, so we can be trillions more. Sent to far planets unwavering and immortal.

Plug in certain criteria and the bot finds replicants to incubate the optimal human. Low fat content, AIC below 5.7%, no family history of heart disease, no Alzheimer's gene detected, limited chance of Microcephaly, limited PAH in blood stream, limited lead in bloodstream, no older than twenty-three, no younger than fourteen. Symmetrical faces. Even pigmentation. Certain physical factors and a certain chakra the bot can't quantify. I can't quantify. Need to see them. Feel them. Determine if their seed is worthy of time they can't comprehend.

It's beneficial to them as well. It takes them out of the camps, gives them four gallons. As many gallons as they want. Eighteen offspring with fourteen replicants. None so far have the problems of the clinical trials. None so far have sequences that compare to mine. He will change that. The pale fire will be lit and those who obstruct immortality will find their world a world of fire and blood and he will come and the offspring will be edited and flawless and join me beyond comprehension of the mortal beast.

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He shares an interest in it too. He talked about building the facility. Getting the cooling center on the Columbia running. Unencrypting the data files. Light the pale fire and declare martial law. I do this for him and the singularity is closer than it has ever been. The refugees forgotten, invisible like tears in rain. The lethargic and diabetic planet obsolete. Cold flowing water, in quantities that predate the existence of our frail nation. Cycling and cycling in the facility like an ICE car.

I receive a ping on my monitor. One word. Delivered. Several hours pass. Nothing. Emergency call from one of the mortal beasts, shiny and chrome. Large explosion on the pipe going to Sacramento. My presence is needed there.

At the site two distinct remnants of flesh. One a Eugene man. Read his file and find how mundane he is. The other one of my men. A coward. One who couldn't do what needed to be done, one who denied the simple calculus and truths that are the guiding philosophy of our failure, one who I had to send to patrol the pipe to keep him out of the way. Couldn't even do that. The singularity was so close. So fucking close. Three cowards got in the way. Two dead, one more soon to be.

The computer network crashes and they can't shut off the pipe. The water keeps flowing. The backup valve breaks. The water keeps flowing. Cold flowing water in quantities that predate the existence of our frail nation. Look into it. Translucent fish wavering and swimming. The ghost of an obsolete species.