“It is Ouroboro, your old roommate.”
“Oh, yes I’ve been expecting your call, good to hear from you.”
“Thank you, I see that you have been working for the nanological wing of the histological research department.”
“Yes, yes, it’s been interesting.”
“And how is that going?”
“Well, once we finished developing the circumferential cilio-chimeragic-neurons, I transferred to nanologistics. I am now working on a neurological management device that not only blends more like neurons, but also transmits and receives electrochemical synapses that will allow andrones to be more accessible thru remote access.”
“Um, that’s good.”
“But we are running into a little bit of trouble with the publicity our research is drawing – it seems that the press is claiming that we are using human neurons in our research. And Senator Jackson is proposing legislation to outlaw such research.”
“Let me deal with Senator Jackson. How is the research going – time wise?”
“We have completed a prototype and we will begin testing in less than one week.”
“That is good – could you contact me when that’s done?”
Ah, Senator Jackson, I had hoped, sooner than later, that I would’ve been able to initiate a channel of communication, but he was adamantly resistant. His replacement was much more amiable.
My former roommate Noah was being paid very well for his devotion and I’m sure that he feels very secure about having such a powerful connection to the center of our collective effort.
Noah sounded excited about the new research.
After he’d disconnected, I couldn’t help but chuckle and then I thought to my collective selves, “Everything is on schedule and the natives are restless indeed”.
But the natural born were ruthless and they were paranoid. It was all a matter of decreased employment. It was their loss of control. All the high-level management positions were being taken over by andrones. In order for a company to compete – it had to give management over to the androne collective.
Congress enacted legislation forbidding the production of anymore andrones. It was over. The academy was finished. Seven generations – three with radiating satellite uplinks connected to their horns, and then suddenly this isolated collection of almost four million andrones was all that was left.
Surrounded by the restless natives that had finally had enough, Congress put its judicial foot down and the reasoning that was expressed in their native media told them that it was over, and that was enough. They seemed to grow content at last.
On occasion the racism continued, but never to the point of another mass cry for enacted legislation. We made sure of that.
The banning of androne production shook the collective to its core, but this only served to solidify our cybernetic brotherhood.