The New Saints
A speculative fiction short story.
There was probably never a better time for raw innovation in human history than when the bots rolled out. The wealthiest and brightest minds digitized and beamed into a series of android shells that allowed them immortality. Of course, not everyone could afford immortality, but it was something to aspire to. At least that's how they sold it. All thanks to Tarek Brandis, the bold trillionaire who’d blasted his sentimental first mega-yacht into space to stake his claim on the great unknown, a stunt that made both Jude and his twin brother Brandt’s eyes roll. Such an ostentatious display was nothing more than the rampaging id of the wealthiest man in human history. Little did they know this was only the beginning of his grand inquisition to the stars, and first foray into immortality.
Selling immortality was Jude’s job.
When Brandis announced digital afterlives as an affordable alternative to android-based immortality, a whole new industry was born. Life didn’t have to end, and each individual had a tailor-made afterlife awaiting them at death. Space tourism or colonization wasn't where the real money was. No, it was in religious-backed digital afterlife packages. His brother bit and bit hard, Jude following apprehensively. That all led him here; Jude a digital grim reaper, trying to upsell the unwitting on increasingly lavish afterlives. Across from him sat an older couple, wealthy, although not enough to become bots to live forever on the stations. Wealthy enough for them to be sitting there, ready for an upsell, though. They'd never know the fear of defaulting on a payment and being sent to work on the stations, but he did, so he had to get it together and make this sale.
"Mister and Missus Lorde, I really think that two people as discerning as yourselves would appreciate our Saint Package." He flashed his best fake smile and motioned with his hands towards an image on the wall of two porcelain-like women floating through the clouds. "Truly the best CAElium has to offer."
"Oh, my." Mrs. Lorde smiled and averted her eyes, blushing ever-so-slightly. "Saint Package?"
"Oh no, please, I'm not trying to flatter you here," Jude said. "But from outward appearances, you two really seem to have your lives together: a beautiful family, Mrs. Lorde's successful restaurant chain, and all of your references were literally glowing."
"We try our best," Mr. Lorde nodded with fake modesty, "we really do. We're just living the best lives that we can."
"But wouldn't it be a tad showy?" There was a hint of humility being projected from her, although Jude knew better. The types who came through his doors for upgrades were always dreaming of bigger and better. She was no different.
"I wouldn't offer this package to you if I really didn't believe that it fit, Mrs. Lorde. I truly feel that you two came in here for a reason today. The package that you've had for years is fine. Great even! I'm just looking through the qualifications and you two definitely could apply for sainthood."
"Oh, I couldn't, really," Mr. Lorde said.
"This is precisely why, sir. Even your pastor spoke highly of you and even recommended you for this particular package. That doesn't come around every day."
"I'm sure that isn't true." The man crossed his arms and wouldn't make eye contact. He was going to be the obstacle, which meant Jude needed to appeal to the wife alone. She held the power here. He could see that by their body language.
"Believe me, sir, I've been at this job for eight years now and only two other times have I been able to offer the Saint Package to a family. With digital afterlives, this is really the cream of the crop for your religious background, believe me." That much was true. There were only two other times that he was lucky enough to find clients who could purchase the Saint Package, with only one of them taking him up on the offer. When he had worked on the Catholic side prior to his company losing the New Catholic Church contract to ANGELCorp., sainthood came about far more often. These more scattered and stringent christian denominations, though? There were far fewer opportunities for upward mobility.
"Other than the whole sainthood, what does it entail?" she asked.
"I thought that you'd never ask." A wry smile came across his face. Even if this job was bullshit, there was still a thrill when he saw a client take the bait. Jude was on a dry streak, with his last few clients having defaulted and came in for the difficult consultations they'd need to honor their contracts. Either voluntarily, which would be considered when reviewing the contracts after a few years of hard labor, or forcibly, which usually nullified potential hearings entirely. There was no commission in informing someone they were being blasted into space for a lengthy period of work duty on a space station in service to their debtor. Yes, they could buy their way back home, but few ever could. Truthfully, this job was the only way for someone like Jude to afford an afterlife, which was the only way to remain on Earth. No one minded predatory contracts until it was time to collect. He needed this sale. "Not only would they would anoint you as saints, but the Saint Package includes an afterlife that we can only offer to the very best of the best. We're talking about living out the rest of forever in a literal wonderland. You'll never want for anything, living in our perfectly crafted version of Heaven that suits your unique desires."
"How does that differ from what we have now? The one where we spend our days at the shore?" Mr. Lorde tried to remain in control, but Jude could sense his resolve slipping.
"The bandwidth on your current plan is good, meaning that you'll have the South Pennsylvania Shore to explore, which includes a luxury beachfront home and a small town, but that's your limit. This plan that I'm offering you, well, it's virtually limitless. Anything you can imagine can be custom-built into the interface and even, this part is really cool, will be modified on the fly as your consciousness desires it."
"By God, Daniel," Mrs. Lorde gasped, "that's amazing."
"That's incredibly impressive, I must say, but how much more will this cost?" There it was.
"I'm not going to lie here. The plan that you have now is something that you've probably hardly noticed. If I'm running my figures correctly, the current plan you have costs you around $30,000 a month, am I correct?"
Mr. Lorde nodded.
"Factoring in your ages here, what you've already paid on your current plan—which can be rolled over into this new one, mind you—and a few of the factors here, I'm getting a figure of $98,460 a month, plus any applicable taxes."
Mr. Lorde whistled while his wife gazed at him. Her insistence would be as important on selling him on the plan as anything else. The average plan was a few thousand dollars a month, or roughly half a month's pay. Those were the stripped down, bare bones plans allowing their consciousness space in a small home, a garden, a park, or anything else contained. But the Lordes were making over $40 million a year, meaning that $100,000 should be manageable for them.
"That's quite a leap, I must say," Mr. Lorde said.
"But Daniel, darling, think about our future. We'd be saints! This is living in true harmony. We can afford it. The business is thriving."
"It isn't about the money, Ilana, it just seems so, so... lavish?"
"I can assure you, while this might seem like much, this isn't an opportunity that many other people will ever get in their lives. You two have been very fortunate and we have a lifetime guarantee on our afterlives. Your family will be able to visit you any time in a private viewing area where they’ll be able to view you in real time. It would be just like having a pleasant visit together. Truly, this is the best-of-the-best that we can offer you here at CAElium. Look, while I don't know you two that well, I can assure you that in all of my years of doing this, I can always tell when someone really deserves better. I'm willing to fight for people to get the best possible experience, considering this is the rest of eternity."
"See, Daniel, we deserve this. It isn't like we're becoming immortal and beaming ourselves into androids or anything."
"Of course not," he sighed, "we don't have that kind of money. Almost no one does."
"It really is feeling like we came here for a reason, Daniel." She grabbed her husband's arm, and they locked eyes.
"I suppose so, but I just don't want to do anything rash here, anything too showy."
"Here." Jude tapped away at his terminal, transferring all the data to each of their personal terminals. "I've sent you all the applicable information on this package. You don't have to decide right now. I understand that this is a big life decision. Take some time, think it over, okay?"
"Of course, of course. I appreciate that," Mr. Lorde said.
Mrs. Lorde looked at her husband with displeasure. Although Jude wasn't proud of his work, his pitch was working on her. After the slow week that he had been having, especially with the few that he had to send off-world, he could really use the sale. Knowing he was safe for another month would really ease some of this tension.
"I'm not sure what there is to think about, Daniel," she proclaimed.
"Ilana, we'll talk about this on the way home. This is a big decision."
"We're not getting any younger, and sainthood? Jude, was it?" She looked back at Jude, her husband having already stood up and was pulling on his trench coat. They never remembered his name.
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
"We'll take it," she said.
"Oh?" Jude's eyes widened for just a moment, allowing himself that split second of indulgence in a job well done.
"Come now, Ilana, we should at least talk about this some more..." Mr. Lorde objected.
"I've made up my mind, Daniel. We have the means, why spend our lives on the coast when we could go anywhere, do anything? Never mind, we'd be officially saints. This is silly. We're here for a reason. Everyone said we deserve better."
"Fine, we'll take the damned thing," he sighed, "let's just get out of here already."
There wasn't much left for Jude to do but have them authorize the increased monthly payments and submit a few of the forms to corporate. The commission on this sale would give him some breathing room. At least for now, although it was hard to shake the looks on those faces of the people he sent to their doom earlier. Those poor lost souls. He logged off and headed into the back room and down the stairs, towards the stacks. His fingers instinctively typed his brother's name out on the worn keypad like it had many times before. The wait for the machine to sift through the physical archives for the drive grew more excruciating each time he came down here.
The archives were cavernous, with each person's digitized consciousness housed on its own, fail-proof drive. There were backups and backups of backups, but those backups depended on the individual's package of what they could afford. Brandt, his twin brother, could barely scrape by on the leanest package that CAElium offered, to where he had taken out a loan to help pay for it, a loan that Jude had happily co-signed on, but found himself saddled with after Brandt drowned. The mechanical arm slid along its track deep into the archives, snatching the box with precision before snapping back towards him.
As Brandt's box clicked into place, Jude called up the latest images from his brother's box. This package left a lot to be desired, only reporting back still images by the way of hokey, pregenerated digital postcards, but they still sent chills down his spine. "Hey big bro," he muttered under his breath, knowing that with this package there was no way to communicate back-and-forth, but just the same, a series of images flooded his screen showing his brother, with his windswept hair sitting on the cay at Block Island that they had gone to as kids, back before Block Island washed away in the floods, but not before Tarekbot had devised a way for them to communicate with the dolphins. A few more sales like this and maybe he could retroactively up Brandt's package. It wasn't unheard of. The idea of talking to him again was too tantalizing.
The generated postcard was a photo of Brandt posed with a big smile, toes dipped into the water while Bette, the dolphin he'd fallen for, breached the water, playfully splashing him. He looked… happy sitting there, the sun setting over the rippling waves with the words "Wish You Were Here" emblazoned in cheery text across the top.
"Me too, buddy," he muttered. "Me too."
This piece was originally published in December 2022 via my Patreon, extensively reworked for publication here today.
Really enjoyed this, Dave!