Andrew and Oz establish the terms of their unwilling relationship.
Oz
“We can deal with this,” the Mekhanite said. “We just have to find ways to avoid each other.”
“While sharing a room?”
“Plenty of people barely know their college dormmates. Even if we can’t trust each other, we both know that any physical altercation between us would get us both expelled.”
“You know, you could just choose not to be weird about me being a Nälkän,” Oz said. “We were getting along fine before you found out. Even after that, all I’ve done is mock you. Just get over whatever bedtime stories your parents told you about Nälkä, and we’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think we have anything to gain from arguing about the veracity of our faiths.”
“What the fuck does anything I just said have to do with the ‘veracity’ of—”
“In fact, I think we should make an agreement not to argue with each other about any of it. Talking about it is just going to get our blood pressure up.”
“Speak for yourself. I have perfect control over my blood pressure.”
“A sarkite in control of his passions? Doesn’t that go against your religion?”
“I didn’t say passions. I said blood pressure. Mine is 113 over 75 right now. Just a bit below baseline, ideal for long-term health. I can raise or lower it as I please. Benefits of being a shepherd of the flesh.”
“Do you accept my agreement?” the Mekhanite asked.
Oz sighed. As awful as this situation was, the one thing that would make it worse is the tin-head trying to convert him. “Fine. Agreed. We don’t debate each other.” Oz smirked and held out his hand. “Shake on it? I promise, I don’t have any deadly germs with me right now.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“You know, you’re actually less likely to get a disease from me than from a random person off the street. I don’t get sick. My immune system is too powerful.”
“I’d like to propose an amendment to our agreement. No passive-aggressive jabs. Those are just as pointless as argume—”
“Fuck no, I’m not agreeing to that.”
The Mekhanite raised a brow. “Seriously?”
“What the fuck do I have to gain from that? Being able to make fun of you is the one upside to being stuck with you as my roommate.”
“Can’t you be a grown-up for just a few months? With any luck, we’ll be able to sort this out by next semester—”
“We haven’t had any luck so far.”
“Either way, making those kinds of jabs at each other isn’t going to make this any more tolerable for either of us.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m having a blast.”
The Mekhanite’s heartrate climbed. Oz couldn’t resist pressing on.
“Besides,” Oz continued, “what else are you good for? Decoration? Because if that’s what you think, I have some sobering news for you about how good-looking you aren’t.”
That was a lie. Physically, the Mekhanite was quite cute, which made his personality that much more unfortunate.
“Do you know what?” the Mekhanite said. “Fine. Make your little jokes. I serve a god of reason. I can maintain perfect emotional composure in the face of anything you say. I’ll even agree not to report you to administration for hate speech, so long as you promise me the same in return.”
“Fine by me. I don’t need to tell on you to protect my poor little feelings.” A moment later, Oz’s eyes went wide. “Wait a second, we’re being stupid. We’ll just find someone to switch rooms with.”
“Are you really that forgetful? Even the Dean of Students couldn’t get the system to—”
“Fuck the system. We’ll just find someone who’ll agree to swap rooms with one of us informally.”
The Mekhanite shook his head. “I brought that up to the dean. Apparently, the system gets… testy when people disobey it like that.”
“Testy?”
“He said I could ask Stephanie Carson about it. He didn’t say exactly what happened, but considering that Carson now resides in room 424 of the Haunted House…”
“…we’re stuck actually rooming with each other,” Oz finished.
“Yes. We have to at least sleep here. We can avoid each other the rest of the time, though. You can just stay away from the room when you’re not sleeping.”
“Why me? How about you stay away from this room when you’re not sleeping? You’re the one who has a home in Portlands to go back to.”
“I’m not allowed to move back there. Even if it weren’t for the system, freshmen are required to live on campus.”
“But you can spend time there, can’t you? Eat? Study? Do homework? I don’t have anywhere else to do those things.”
“My computer is going to be here.”
“Sounds like a you problem. Where would I even go?”
“Wherever you want. You could try the student union, or the library. I think there’s even one of your disgusting flesh temples near campus.”
“Or we could just close the door between our halves of the room and ignore each other. I think I can stay reasonably quiet, so as long as you can, too—”
“I’d still smell you.”
“Alright, let me give you a tip for when you want to insult people. There has to be at least some truth to whatever you’re saying, or it’ll fall completely fla—”
“I’ll have you know your stench is—”
“Wasn’t finished, tinhead. Or should I say tin-eyes or tin-ears? Because those are the only senses you have augmented.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I do have all my senses enhanced. I can see, hear, and smell that there’s no metal in you besides your eyes and ears. That means my nose is, in fact, much better than yours, good enough for me to be completely sure that the only ‘stench’ in this room is the lingering smell of your mother’s basement.”
“I—”
“Oh, and there’s cum on your underwear.”
The look on the Mekhanite’s face was priceless. In fact, if he’d seen it before chip-for-brains started calling him slurs, he would’ve said it was adorable. “Shut up!” the Mekhanite screeched like a toddler.
“Perfectly calm. A model disciple of the great god of reason.”
“Fine. Do you know what? You win. You get the room. I’ll find somewhere else to put my computer.”
“I wish you nothing but success where that’s concerned.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No problem, buddy.”
The Mekhanite clenched his fist. Oz flashed him a shit-eating grin. He had nearly as much control over this idiot’s blood pressure as he did over his own.
“Alright, then,” the Mekhanite said. “I’ll stay away from this room when I’m not sleeping. Now all we need to do is confirm that we don’t have any classes together.”
“Why would we have classes together?”
“The dean seemed to think we should check. If the system is trying to force us together in one respect, it might do so in other ways as well.”
“Fine. What classes are you taking?”
“Computer Science 101. I don’t suppose you’re in that?”
“Can’t say that I am.”
“I tested into Algebra 225. I’m sure I don’t have to worry about you having done the same?”
“Nope.”
“I’m taking Astronomy for my physical science requirement. Are you in that?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m in the Gen Ed English class. I’m sure I don’t need to worry about seeing you there. You’d have to be able to read.”
“Already forgotten that we were planning to go to go a book café together before you started being a dick? But no, I’m not in that.”
“How about introductory memetics?”
“That’s another no.”
“Good. That just leaves—”
“Wait, you’re in six classes?”
“Of course I am. I’m not surprised you’re in fewer, though. It takes an advanced mind to manage a proper university worklo—”
“Alright, we’re coming up on the limit of how long I can stand you. What’s your last class?”
“Comparative Religion. Are you in that?”
Oz hesitated for a second. “Which section?” Oz asked.
“Wait, so you are—?”
“Which section, tin-head? Hopefully we’re in different ones.”
The Mekhanite pulled out his phone. It was twice as big as a smartphone should be, inside a thick metal case decorated with a bunch of glowing blue lines. The Mekhanite tapped the screen a few times. “Section 610,” he said. “Tuesday/Thursday at Four.”
Oz grimaced.
The Mekhanite noticed immediately. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Oz pulled out his phone to make sure. He pulled up his class schedule. It was right there. Religion 100: Introduction to Comparative Religious Studies, Section 610, taught by Dr. C. D. Hopper. “Fuck,” Oz said.
“Seriously? Of all courses, we have Comparative Religion together?”
“So it would seem.”
The Mekhanite stared at his phone for another moment, before stowing it in his pocket and turning to leave the room.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to student services. I’m going to see if I can drop that class.”
“And if you can’t?” Oz asked. “Because our track record with that sort of thing is—”
“I will find a way!”
Andrew
Andrew did not find a way.
Just as the computer system wouldn’t let him or Oz out of that room, it wouldn’t let either of them out of that specific section of Comparative Religion. Andrew couldn’t even drop the class.
There had to be something behind this. Some kind of malicious force targeting Andrew, either to give that sarkite an opportunity to do something to him, or just to humiliate him.
There was nothing Andrew could do about it, though, at least not if he was going to stay at Deer.
Andrew took a deep breath. Please, WAN, let him put all of this out of his mind for a few hours.
It was Saturday night, time for the bi-weekly meeting of the campus Maxwellist group “WAN For All.” This student group was one of the things he’d been looking forward to most about Deer College. Andrew had never wanted for religious community at home, but now that he was an adult, he relished the opportunity to be part of a religious group that was separate from his parents.
The Maxwellist student group was one of the oldest at Deer, and, about ten years ago, it got a custom meeting room built just for it.
Andrew was self-conscious of the stink of Sarkicism on him as he entered, though he wasn’t sure if it was really there or if his flesh-tainted mind was just manifesting his fears. One day he would transcend such limits. One day there would be nothing to him but soul and steel, unshackled by flesh, but not yet. Not anytime soon.
Andrew entered the room.
The furniture was made of sleek, shining chrome. The seats of chairs and couches were lined with electric blue felt. Outlets were plentiful, as were devices capable of interfacing wirelessly with bodily implants. For the moment, Andrew didn’t have enough cyberware to take advantage of that, but hopefully, he’d get at least a basic brain augment in the next year or two.
The other students here had that much and more. Of the dozen or so club members who’d arrived before Andrew, all had more modifications than he did, and those were just the ones that were visible from the outside. The room was full of mechanical arms and legs. There were more robotic eyes than organic ones. No less than three students had large portions of their skin replaced.
The sight of them made Andrew itch. Those machines would never tear or wrinkle, and they transmitted an order of magnitude more sensory data than the layer of dead, flaking flesh that still covered Andrew.
Andrew would need to find the time, and the money, to step up his game if he was going to fit in here.
Riely was in the room as Andrew entered. They rose and came over to greet him. “Good to see you again,” they said.
“Of course,” Andrew said. “Sorry I couldn’t make time to stop by your room yesterday. I had some… difficulties with my room assignment.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Riely said. “Did you work it out?”
“…Well enough,” Andrew said after a moment.
“That’s good. Either way, it’s wonderful to see you here.”
“Likewise.”
Another student approached Andrew. He was older than Andrew or Riely. All of his visible skin was replaced with light-gray cyberware. He had neon green eyes, and fully mechanical limbs. The only part of him that looked even a bit organic was his curly red hair. “Hello,” he said, holding his robotic hand out for Andrew to shake.
Andrew pushed past his instinctive distaste for handshakes. This was a fellow Maxwellist. “Hello,” Andrew said as he took the man’s hand.
“I’m Ethan,” the man said, “head of WAN For All. Riely’s told me a lot about you. I think you’ll fit in wonderfully here.”
Andrew smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, a dozen more students trickled into the room. Most of them had something marking them as devoutly religious. For older students, that was a body modification, or two, or five, or ten. For other freshman, it was usually a piece of clothing, or one or more electronic devices they were openly using.
Unlike the older students who’d arrived early, most of the freshmen seemed to be novices with few or no augmentations, including a small, mousy girl whose only bit of technological enhancement was a pair of high-tech glasses.
At least Andrew wasn’t the only one who was still mostly organic.
There was only one student who couldn’t be identified as a Mekhanite at a glance. He was the last to arrive. He wore a navy-blue jacket and a grey t-shirt with the logo for some fantasy franchise on it. There was nothing mechanical on his person except the outline of an ordinary smartphone in his left pocket.
That didn’t stop Ethan from greeting him the same way he had all the other new members. “Hello!” he said. “Welcome to WAN For All. I’m Ethan, head of the group.”
“I’m Josh,” the boy said.
“Nice to meet you. How long have you been a servant of WAN?”
Josh hesitated. “Okay, so, I’m kind of new to the anomalous world. I learned about all of it just a few months ago, when I got a letter from Deer inviting me to attend. I hadn’t really seen any paranormal stuff for myself until, well, yesterday.”
“Deer sought you out?” Ethan asked, “even though you weren’t under the Veil?”
“Yeah. It was the Creative Writing department. They really liked some poems I submitted to a contest. I thought it was a prank until I followed the letter’s instructions and ended up in Three Portlands. Since yesterday, I’ve been dipping my toes into everything I can. I’m trying to learn about all the new religions here. I’m not sure when, or even if I’m going to pick one, but I want to understand them as much as I can. I was hoping I could sit here and watch your meeting?”
“I see,” Ethan said.
“I hope that’s alright?”
“Well, technically, you’re supposed to self-ID as a Maxwellist to be a member of this club. However, I admire your curiosity. The last thing I want to do is stand in the way of a truth-seeker.”
“Thank you.”
“And, make no mistake, the truth is exactly what you’ll find here. No other religion understands what we do about the human condition and how to transcend it.”
Josh struggled to formulate a response to that. “Hopefully one day I feel the same way,” he eventually said.
“I’ll make a spot for you in the corner. You can listen in and participate in some of the social activities. I don’t want to completely bar you from participating in discussions, but try not to bog things down with basic questions, okay? I’ll be happy to talk with you after each meeting about anything you need help understanding.”
“Thank you,” Josh said. He looked around the room. “If I can ask one quick question, though, I see that a lot of the people in here are, like… part robot? Is that part of your religion? I’ve not seen anyone else at Deer who’s like that.”
Ethan chuckled. “Not everyone is as wise as us. It is our faith that directs us to overcome the limitations of our flesh. We seek the purity and perfection of the machine, for ourselves and for the world.”
“Oh,” Josh said.
“I’ve got to get the meeting started. I’ll talk with you again afterward, okay?”
“Alright.”
Since there was a new class of freshmen joining the club, the meeting largely consisted of the group’s members introducing themselves to each other. They went around in a circle, giving names and pronouns, and, at Ethan’s suggestion, naming their favorite bodily modification, whether it was one they had or one they wished they could have.
There was a surprising variety of answers. Ethan loved the strength of his robot arms. Riely liked their frontal lobe enhancement chip. Another senior liked her legs, and how easy they made it to get around quickly. Andrew only had a few modifications to choose from, but he was fond of his mechanical eyes. “It’s like I turned into a hawk the day I got them. Now that I have them, I think of myself as having been blind before.”
Most of the freshmen could only fantasize about mechanical enhancements. The mousy girl with the technological glasses, named Sandra, already had a date set for getting her eyes replaced. “It’s honestly hard to make do with the glasses in the meantime,” she said. “I can always feel my flesh aching to be replaced with something more becoming of me.”
That saw agreement from around the room.
“I’m planning to have something done with my heart,” said another student. “I know that doesn’t have as many short-term benefits as some of the others, but it’s the part of the human form that’s most likely to fail in the long run. I don’t want to die in just a few decades. I want to live to see WAN’s new world, no matter how long it takes us to build it.”
Andrew smiled. He shouldn’t let that sarkite get to him. Despite who he’d been roomed with, there were plenty of people like him here at Deer. People who believed what he did. People who shared his values, and longed as deeply as he did to overcome their flesh.
The flesh worshiper was nothing but an irritant. He didn’t even deserve to take up space in Andrew’s memory.