Unfortunately for them, it had. Elections came and went, and Edward’s influence waned as his listeners aged and inevitably died off. The progression of moral depravity mirrored a herd of buffalo stampeding toward a cliff, and eventually he knew that standing in front of the herd and shouting would be fruitless. He had to try a different tactic; he couldn’t just let the cattle blindly race toward their death. They deserved to know what lay ahead.
Deciding the problem needed tackling from a different angle, Edward Lee Coglin made a sharp right. He extricated himself from the remnants of his media spotlight entirely—so much so that rumors ran rampant about his death. In reality, Edward was reinventing himself, starting with seminary. After several years of study and tutorship, Edward Lee Coglin was ordained in a small ceremony attended, at a meager church, by six elder Protestant church leaders and several high-profile politicians.
Following his ordination, Edward instantiated a plan that had been blooming in his mind throughout his time of study. He pooled his still-sizable resources, and with the help of several large, anonymous investors, the reverend started a small company called NanoRegenSoft. The company would focus on the hottest business segment of the time: gene therapy.
He needed the herd to rely on him; only then could he adequately get their attention.
The sun had set. He looked out his office window upon his defiled flock and considered pouring himself a stiff drink.
Chapter Nine
The antiquated high-speed magRail from San Diego to Olympia had taken just over twelve hours and the time had passed rather uneventfully. The first-class cabin was nondescript, containing a plain tan couch that doubled as a bed. Dylan had spent the first several hours browsing various corpNets on a public-access media console on the train, while trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head that was beginning to second-guess his impetuous decision to head toward Washington.
But the man had so many details of his other life, his deathTrip . . .
After kicking back a few gin and tonics while watching the Dodgers knock off the Hanshin Tigers in eleven innings, Dylan drifted into a fitful sleep. He awoke eight hours later, just before the magRail arrived in Olympia. Fearing a similar experience in Olympia as that in San Diego, Dylan didn’t bother to shave, and walked off the magRail in the T-shirt he had slept in. He draped his coat over his shoulder and sauntered as casually as he could. The place was filthy. Thousands of people milled around the facility, but Dylan’s now-scruffy look was helping him blend in. That, and he made sure to walk with as much purpose as possible.
After some aggressive meandering, Dylan found a transport rental agency. A quick chat with a holoReceptionist, and a recently returned 2028 model Porsche Boxster retrofitted for autoTrans capability was offered. Dylan smiled a toothy grin, scanned his palm, and headed outside where the car was already waiting for him.
A light misting of rain pattered the silver sports car, and Dylan ducked inside as fast as he could. The Boxster was cramped; he could barely adjust his pants, forget standing up. It had been nearly a decade since Dylan had last driven an automobile, and that had been a larger hauling vehicle. The driver’s seat was well worn, even though it had clearly been replaced several times. The steering wheel appeared original; the leather was so smooth he could see his reflection in it. He had kept his automobile license active, figuring he’d find time to drive sooner or later. Later had, at last, arrived.
After a few arguments with the Boxster’s computer on the proper timing that the manual transmission required for going from first to second, Dylan settled into a nice rhythm right at the point where he reached the on-ramp to the autoTrans. The computer immediately engaged control, and Dylan’s romp was over for now.
“Hot damn!”
Deciding the problem needed tackling from a different angle, Edward Lee Coglin made a sharp right. He extricated himself from the remnants of his media spotlight entirely—so much so that rumors ran rampant about his death. In reality, Edward was reinventing himself, starting with seminary. After several years of study and tutorship, Edward Lee Coglin was ordained in a small ceremony attended, at a meager church, by six elder Protestant church leaders and several high-profile politicians.
Following his ordination, Edward instantiated a plan that had been blooming in his mind throughout his time of study. He pooled his still-sizable resources, and with the help of several large, anonymous investors, the reverend started a small company called NanoRegenSoft. The company would focus on the hottest business segment of the time: gene therapy.
He needed the herd to rely on him; only then could he adequately get their attention.
The sun had set. He looked out his office window upon his defiled flock and considered pouring himself a stiff drink.
Chapter Nine
The antiquated high-speed magRail from San Diego to Olympia had taken just over twelve hours and the time had passed rather uneventfully. The first-class cabin was nondescript, containing a plain tan couch that doubled as a bed. Dylan had spent the first several hours browsing various corpNets on a public-access media console on the train, while trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head that was beginning to second-guess his impetuous decision to head toward Washington.
But the man had so many details of his other life, his deathTrip . . .
After kicking back a few gin and tonics while watching the Dodgers knock off the Hanshin Tigers in eleven innings, Dylan drifted into a fitful sleep. He awoke eight hours later, just before the magRail arrived in Olympia. Fearing a similar experience in Olympia as that in San Diego, Dylan didn’t bother to shave, and walked off the magRail in the T-shirt he had slept in. He draped his coat over his shoulder and sauntered as casually as he could. The place was filthy. Thousands of people milled around the facility, but Dylan’s now-scruffy look was helping him blend in. That, and he made sure to walk with as much purpose as possible.
After some aggressive meandering, Dylan found a transport rental agency. A quick chat with a holoReceptionist, and a recently returned 2028 model Porsche Boxster retrofitted for autoTrans capability was offered. Dylan smiled a toothy grin, scanned his palm, and headed outside where the car was already waiting for him.
A light misting of rain pattered the silver sports car, and Dylan ducked inside as fast as he could. The Boxster was cramped; he could barely adjust his pants, forget standing up. It had been nearly a decade since Dylan had last driven an automobile, and that had been a larger hauling vehicle. The driver’s seat was well worn, even though it had clearly been replaced several times. The steering wheel appeared original; the leather was so smooth he could see his reflection in it. He had kept his automobile license active, figuring he’d find time to drive sooner or later. Later had, at last, arrived.
After a few arguments with the Boxster’s computer on the proper timing that the manual transmission required for going from first to second, Dylan settled into a nice rhythm right at the point where he reached the on-ramp to the autoTrans. The computer immediately engaged control, and Dylan’s romp was over for now.
“Hot damn!”
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