BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

who have no work,those who live on the benevolence of the government and who spend their daysfeeding their addiction to the Link? Is there a place for them here at ThePearl as well?"

Lennox blinked at the sudden course change in conversation. Themayor bit his lip, struck dumb for once.

Yeng cleared his throat. "You must forgive my brother, Mr.Lennox. He can be very...direct." He glanced at Kuan, who had notturned his intense gaze from Lennox. "He did not mean to show anydisrespect."

"This is true," Kuan conceded. His smile returned."I am merely curious, Mr. Lennox. I meant no offense."

"None taken," Lennox dismissed the concern. Theyreally know how to cover up their lack of good manners with uncommon courtesy."You're both followers of the Way, I take it?" The robes were a deadgiveaway, but he also knew how to pretend to be polite.

They nodded, waiting for him to continue. The mayor squirmed,looking uncertain where this discussion was headed.

"Right. So you're morally opposed to the Link." He notedthe scars on their necks where their interfaces had been surgically removed.

Yeng deferred to Kuan, who said, "We oppose the interface,yes. We encourage believers to have their subdermal plugs removed so that theirsouls will remain pure before God, unplugged from the Link and its countlessvirtual vices."

"And you believe a SYN has no soul."

They nodded without hesitation. "That is correct," saidKuan.

"And you know this...how, exactly?" Lennox arched hismanicured eyebrows.

This time, it was Yeng who spoke. "A synthetic being is not acreation of God, but a creation of man. It lives when man gives it life, and itdies when it reaches its expiration date—preordained by the same man whocreated it. SYNs are not God-breathed, and, thus, carry no souls."

Spoken straight from his catechism.

"So God has nothing to do with it? Every time a SYN comesinto this world with a beating heart, two eyes, two arms, two legs, God waselsewhere, doing God only knows what?"

A patient smile spread across Kuan's thin lips. "All ofcreation came from God. In the beginning, He formed all that we know out ofnothing." He paused. "Yet when a man builds a house, it is the manwho builds the house, not God. The raw materials may have been from God, butthe house is made by the man. It is his own creation."

"I'm having a tough time keeping up with you boys tonight,"the major interjected with a dry chuckle, glancing from Lennox to Kuan."But if we're discussing the construction of homes, then this might be anopportune time to bring up the proposed overhaul of HellTown—"

"That's where our beliefs differ, I'm afraid," Lennoxsaid, holding Kuan's gaze. "I have to believe that if there is aGod, then all life, whether it be conventional or genetically engineered, mustoriginate with him."

Kuan nodded. "Then you believe the SYN has a soul?"

Lennox parted his lips to reply, but that's when George appearedat their table with a bottle and four goblet-sized wine glasses. Perfecttiming.

"Here you are, Mr. Lennox. Shall I pour each of our guests aglass?" The two men in robes seemed to give the synthetic pause as he hesitated,hovering over the table.

"Yes, George." Lennox held Kuan's gaze, and as he did,he felt a playful smile creep across his lips. He waited until the SYN had setdown each of the glasses and popped the cork. Then he spoke without looking up."What do you think, George? Would you say I have a soul?"

The George model was handsome, in a way—what you would expect,maybe even hope for, in a waiter or bartender. Medium height, chiseledfeatures, dark complexion. A winning smile that affirmed your choice of drink,steady hands that never got it wrong. A man's man, but smooth with the ladies.Lennox had a couple dozen of them working at The Pearl, maybe more; he'd lostcount.

"Of course, Mr. Lennox," George replied, filling each ofthe glasses a third of the way full without spilling a single drop. His eyesremained focused on the task. "You're human."

A statement of fact and nothing more.

"And what about you, George?" Lennox turned his gazeonto the SYN.

"Me, sir?" He finished pouring the wine and set the bottlein the center of the table.

Lennox didn't glance at the holy men. He didn't need to. He knewthey were both staring at George. The first synthetic they'd seen up close?Doubtful. You couldn't walk down the street in NewCity these days withoutbumping into as many SYNs as natural-born humans—not that Lennox himself haddone much walking about town lately. He preferred to walk between towns,crossing the membrane between worlds. Seeing his own world through differenteyes.

"Do I have a soul?" George said, making sure heunderstood the question.

"That's right."

"Well...I'd like to think so." A robust smile brokeacross the SYN's perfect, proportionate face.

Lennox released a pleasant chuckle, and the mayor echoed itawkwardly. His two guests smiled, tolerant yet amiable.

"Me too, George." Lennox nodded, pleased with thewaiter's response. "Me too."

George bowed at the waist, smile intact, and left with, "Ifthere's anything else you require, don't hesitate to call me over."

"Does that answer your question?" Lennox returned hisgaze to Kuan as he reached for his glass.

"In a way, yes," the holy man conceded, tilting his headand pausing to look at the wine in his own glass, untouched. "It grants usinsight into your view of the soul itself. That you perceive it as somethingnot to be quantified or qualified. Would I be correct in this assumption?"

Lennox held his glass by its stem and swirled the wine out ofhabit. "I don't think it's something anyone can claim to comprehend. Andas the first to admit full ignorance on the subject, I'm the last to judgewhether someone is God-breathed or soulless. Instead, I prefer totake the path of least resistance: Life is life. The question as to whether anyof us has a soul is better left to holy men such as yourself." He raisedhis glass to Kuan in a gesture intended to show respect before he took a sipand held it for a moment behind his teeth.

Both Kuan and Yeng smiled, turning their heads toward one anotherin a self-effacing manner.

"We are holy only in that we have separated ourselvesfrom the mainstream of