High above the round table, the projector unit began to strobe. An image fluttered and blinked into existence: Pastor Jonah LeMarque, leader and CEO of New Eden Ministries. He looked as boyish as ever: his skin unnaturally golden for Washington State, his smile easy and white and even. He wore a golf shirt and an afternoon’s beard. This meant he was at his home in Snohomish, about an hour away. He could have attended this meeting in person if he’d wanted to. But his broadcast centre was in his basement, and from it he touched all his other churches, all over the world, as well as the labs they employed. He almost never left it. He hated to leave his children, he said.
“I understand your point, Derek,” LeMarque said, not even bothering to say hello to the others. “I’ve been tuned into this meeting, with half an ear of course, but tuned in, and I think I get what you’re trying to say. You’re trying to say – and correct me if I’m wrong, here – that faith without works is inert, and we need to do good work in order to show our love to God. And those good works include building good robots.”
Derek took a moment. “That’s not how I would have phrased it, but I agree with you that we need to focus on quality control.”
“Sure, sure. Quality control. I know what you’re saying. I just think that, for this crowd, you have to bring it back to the Lord, and to our mission. You know?”
That was LeMarque. Too busy for meetings, but not too busy to critique communications strategy among the junior employees.
“And our mission, brothers and sisters, is to craft the best possible companions for those among us who are left behind when Jesus calls us home before the Tribulation.”
The bishopric looked suitably chastened. Beside him, Susie had paused writing. She focused intently on LeMarque’s face. The glow emanating from it had nothing to do with the projector’s light.
“It’s gonna be war out there, you know. And I don’t mean figuratively. I mean literally. The Enemy will reign. And a lot of people who had the opportunity to turn toward God but didn’t, or who turned away, they’re finally going to understand the mistake they made. And they’re going to need some help.
“Jesus tells us in Matthew that what we do to the least of our fellow men, we also do to him. We have to follow Christ’s example, here. That’s the core of our theology. We’re making new companions for those who have none.” One corner of his lip quirked up. “I mean, when Adam was lonely and needed somebody, God gave him Eve. And I know it might be blasphemy, but I think we can do a little better than that. At least Susie over here knows how to follow an order.”
The archbishops laughed. Susie continued staring into the projection of LeMarque’s face. Watching all of them, Derek saw how LeMarque must have accomplished this particular feat of human, financial, and technological engineering. He had the personality of a rock star Evangelical, but concerned himself very little with their traditional battlegrounds. He didn’t care about teaching the Creation. He didn’t care about abortions. He held the heretofore-radical position that “saving” other people simply wasn’t his problem. And when he asked for tithes to build his robots, he said that the advancements in science and technology were clearly a gift from a God who had granted His last children the superior intellect but, mysteriously, had made no particular covenant with them regarding tool use.
“So just listen to this guy, OK?” LeMarque was saying. “He’s a genius. A true genius, Archbishop Yoon.”
The android beamed.
“If Derek says it’s not good enough, then it’s not good enough. OK? OK.”
LeMarque’s face vanished. Archbishop Undset said something about everyone taking the time to review the report. Another meeting was scheduled. Then they closed with a prayer. Susie placed her cool silicone hand in his. Unlike the others, she did not close her eyes when Archbishop Keller, whose turn it was that week, began to speak.
“Lord, uplift us from our imperfections…”
When New Eden Ministries first approached Derek, he had a fairly serious case of PTSD. At least, his doctor said that would explain the sleeplessness. It was a month after the quake, and he was doing work on a farm out in Wapato, on the other side of the Cascades, far away from the fault line and the water and the bodies. The University of Washington had sent him there because his own lab was in pieces, and because there was some promising work going on there regarding how to combat Colony Collapse Disorder that required someone with a background in artificial intelligence. Dr Singh, the student who did all the research and wrote all the papers, had lost his supervisor – the one whose name was on all the papers – to stray gunfire between rival gangs. The kid needed a babysitter. And Derek needed to pull himself together.