Katassia By 24 He falls in love and battles aliens with a beautiful replicant female bodybuilder What would the world be like if everyone had a 200 IQ? If there were no genetic diseases? If everyone was beautiful? My grandfather posed these questions in a popular science journal in the 1990's. The answer is no better. Maybe worse. The biologists of his era had remarkable faith in their power to improve humankind through science. At first genetic engineering of humans was opposed by authority. An abomination - an affront to the Lord. Ultimately the public decided - with their credit cards and children. No message from Katassia.. The replicants quickly dominated government, industrial and scientific leadership positions. There were no preferences. They just test so damn well. Wars ended. No hunger. Virtual reality. Why should humans complain about being excluded? Of having no real say in our destinies. We never had it so good. Then we met the aliens. I suspect they were always with us. However it took the Replicants to discover them. The aliens are much smarter than the replicants. They process information at approximately 10 times the rate. I believe this is because of their superior neural implant hybridization. They are not so damn controlling as the replicants. They let the silicon meet the carbon where it may. My grandfather is sometimes called the father of the replicants. Ironically his IQ was only on the low end of genius, just like mine. We share many similarities - maybe I am his clone? That is by the old IQ standards of course. He could never be a scientist today - not smart enough to pass the exams. The average IQ for replicants is 250. In fact a whole new IQ scale had to be developed for them. They are now about 15% of the population. About 30 years ago they were 10%. However humans are preferentially sent to the front. I guess our government feels they have less genes worth saving. Also humans fight better - this is a military secret. It is the replicant's greatest shame. Genetic engineering is all in the balance. My grandfather's insight was that it should not be based upon selection of exceptional individual traits but rather the interaction between genes. A change in one gene has to be exquisitely balanced by modulations throughout the genome. Balance is the key. Genomic ballet. Homeostasis, the scientific equivalent of Balance, achieved at all costs. My grandfather loved art - again like me - particularly the Greek and Renaissance Classics. The replicant's are the scientific realization of the Classic ideals. Beauty reduced to measurable proportions and ratios. Mind and body in perfect balance. My grandfather was not so well balanced, mentally or physically. He was passionate, emotional, sometimes violent. In replicant art he is Prometheus, massively built, carrying fire to the world. In life he was a rather unassuming man, short, paunchy, long skinny arms dangling from thin shoulders, wisps of jet black hair shooting off in all directions. Hours wasted in the gym trying to change himself into his ideal. The replicants cannot understand the aliens. What do they want? Why and when do they attack? How could such an advanced race be so brutal, so violent, so well .. Unbalanced. I understand. That is why I am the only human in military tactical intelligence. It is a stressful life. I often have to go to the front. Somehow I have survived. Helen used to joke that I was really a Replicant. Seemingly not bothered by the long trips alone, not being allowed to contact her, or anyone. The great risks with little rewards. Ironic it bothered her so much. She is an actual replicant, albeit defective. A flaw on her 26th chromosome allows her to feel strong emotions. Having to add an extra pair of chromosomes was my grandfathers greatest regret in designing the first generation of Replicants. He hoped to achieve the enhancement completely within the human genome complement of 24. She wanted to be a doctor but was forced to leave school. Too unstable the tests said. She works as a nurse at the front now - she tells people out of necessity. Really it is out of love. She had more love to give than anyone I have known. Except possibly Katassia. Funny that they are both replicants. I like to imagine she left me because she had too much love for any one human. It is easier than facing the truth, that I had so little love to return. But I gave her what I had in its entirety. She would have settled for a baby. However I refused to allow my genome to be edited. The acceptable genes tagged for merging. The others chewed up by restriction enzymes. Replaced by government approved DNA sequences. Now all I have are the dreams of my unborn children. The family I never had. Still no message from Katassia. I wonder how Helen would have felt if she knew that I 'surfed' the net on my trips. The terminology used to describe the internet is similar to my grandfather's time. The miracles of technology have outstripped our ability to describe them. No need for terminals as we all have chips in our heads. Direct attachments to our sensory and cognitive processing centers. Virtual reality for the masses, it is a miracle anyone works, or more importantly fights. Maybe Helen would have thought I was more human . That even I could not stand the loneliness. Part II The answer to my grandfather' s first question is that there would be a lot more web sites. Replicant sites are technically superb. Highly intellectual. All facility - no soul. Tributes to a balanced, superior existence. He would have loved them - many adopt a Classical theme. They bore me. When traveling alone I mostly surf the worship sites. Where lonely human males meet replicant females for worship and tribute (i.e. money). A 250 IQ is not an economic advantage these days. A girl needs to pay the bills somehow, even if she is a Replicant. I find the genetic perfection of replicant woman incredibly erotic. The balanced facial structure, each feature perfectly articulated, as if by a Renaissance artist. The luxuriant frame of hair. Even more amazing are their bodies, especially the athletic ones. Every muscle is articulated, with its own distinct curve and shape, yet somehow flowing together into a magnificent entirety. Their strength and athletic ability is even more phenomenal. Katassia's is at least six times mine, and I work out regularly. I will be able to connect with her soon.. It is hard connecting in space. To have a real time virtual reality connect you must be near a site. Otherwise the time distortions for tachyon propagation cannot be compensated. If the military knew I surfed they would retire me. Replicants are very rigid regarding procedures. A net link could be used by the aliens to track me. They are even considering shutting the web down to block alien penetration. Perhaps the military just does not want to know what I do. I get the job done. In wartime that is enough. protocol. Ironically the net may be what keeps our species alive. It certainly has kept me alive. The aliens come from a sensory impoverished world. They love our sites, particularly the human ones: the enhanced colors, intricate swirling patterns and forms, the unrestrained sensuality. They become addicted to the overwrought dramas, the enhanced emotions. Some even develop relationships with us in our meeting rooms. Supposedly they are very sensitive lovers. The sites to them are a celebration of life. Particularly the memorial sites which we post to eulogize our beloved dead. To the aliens death is the key to understanding life. They yearn to comprehend us, to better appreciate what we experience in our last moments. The search for new understanding, new insight is a fundamental part of their culture. They fight savagely, yet mourn every lost human life with the emotional intensity of the bereft. If I could only convince the replicants of their motivations. The carnage would end. The aliens do not fight for victory. They could destroy the Earth in a millisecond if they chose. I detect one of the aliens riding my connecting beam, an easy way for him to circumvent the site security. This makes connecting all the more urgent. If he gets bored I will have to fight him here in real space , on his terms. In Virtual space I have a chance, he will be distracted. Katassia may have an interesting new visitor in the chat room tonight! Connection made. It is a worship site - actually a worship lounge - but rather subdued. None of the bombast and pageantry of Diana the AstroValkyrie's. Diana's site is pure opera. Fantastically enhanced Valkyries , biceps and breasts bulging out of the skimpiest of outfits, frolic in a variety kitchy Norse backdrops. I have to turn down my implants to withstand the tremendous musical sweep and volume. An encyclopedia of sensual pleasures awaits the admirer of the amazon replicant there. I enter one of the darkened booths, separated by maroon velvet curtains. The booths form a semi circle around an elevated stage. There is a small table to rest my drink . It is designed to be reminiscent of a 20th century private night club. Perhaps Paris? New York? The guests may choose any identity or appearance within the parameters of the virtual reality generator and the more crippling limitations of their own imagination. Behavior is more restricted. I choose to be myself. As good a false identity as any. Also I can react faster with a simulation similar to my own musculature. It takes years to get used to a new body whether virtual or real. Part III I first met Katassia here. Previously I only entered simulation rooms. I prefer simulations of actual replicants. Not the enhancements which are so popular now. How can you enhance perfection? Entering the lounges never appealed to me. I wanted to escape humanity, the emotions, the unpredictability. I did not want to hurt anyone, human or Replicant. Not after Helen. You cannot hurt a simulation. They are never offended by your entreaties to worship. To admire the beauty and power of their magnificent physiques. Massive sweeps of muscle gracefully defining their thighs and buttocks. Mind and body developed to the ultimate of genetic potential. Skin perfectly tan, smooth as finely polished marble. Incredibly powerful yet remarkably feminine, with lovely curves and proportions. A sensuality only achievable in the female human form. Perhaps grandfather was right. We really did do better than God. I never touched. That would have been unfaithful to Helen. Helen told me she was leaving in a message. It was not unexpected. I had never been able to fulfil her needs, emotional or physical. She learned to accept the separation when I was in space. She never could accept the separation at home. She cried after we made love. Even the most intimate of human acts next to the birth of a child could not bring us together. It was not her fault. I just could not connect. Maybe it was anxiety. Drugs were never an option for me. I needed all of my limited processing power for the war. Even the best medications have too much of a cognitive effect. I wish I could convince her it was not her fault. I wish even more I had given her the child she wanted so dearly. Towards the end we even lost our physical intimacy. Too much pain. Even her replicant heart could not withstand such a profound rejection. Standard protocol would have been to contact a military psychiatrist after reading her message. Psychopharmacology mends the broken heart. Instead I connected. That night I met Katassia. About a third of the booths were occupied in the lounge. It was her first time there. Her apostles had not yet enlightened the world of her holiness. Almost everyone that night was virtually enhanced. Caricatures of male replicants. Comical. Often knocking over their drinks, barely able to stand, unable to master their newly found virtual strength. There was one scrawny guy who might have been real. Nobody I recognized. Several smokers - no reason not to. Virtual vice has no physical risk. No real replicants. Too much atmosphere for them. A pseudo replicant manipulated his virtual genitals - enhanced to an equine scale. "Welcome Katassia" announced the host , a strikingly handsome replicant (?) named Bob whose shirt did not match his pants. Some people cannot even virtually dress. "You may know her from her worship room on our site. She has been quite successful in the arena of fitnastic pageants and is now making the transition to physical aesthetics with an emphasis in myomorphism". I suppressed a laugh. The replicants intellectualize everything. My grandfather would have called her a fitness babe who became a muscle chick. It gave me a chuckle when I found out he, the great visionary of the replicant age, had the same kink I do. That the ideals of human perfection were chosen by a scrawny armed, paunchy man who worshiped muscle chicks. I did not expect much. If Katassia was anything special why would she be here... with me. Katassia walked in. I was simply stunned. What is a nice girl like you doing in a place like.. She was the most exquisitely beautiful Replicant I had ever seen. Long sensual legs, every muscle perfectly formed. As she walked on stage her quadriceps bulged and shimmered. At any moment I expected twin pythons to erupt from the smooth tanned skin of her thighs. Her proportions were perfect, shoulders wide and back gracefully arched in a perfect curve. A V shaped torso made her waist seem thin, almost dainty. Yet that dainty waist had the strength of 6 non Replicant men. The abdominal and lower back muscles as strong as neutron enriched steel cables. Her posture was flawless, maintained with ease and grace. I could not detect asymmetry in any of her features, no malformations, not the slightest imperfection. The elegance of motion indicated that this was her real body, no cheating here. I calculated the odds of her having been born naturally. Computer implants make statistics trivial. Astronomical against it. Billions of humans would have to successfully mate once a year from now to the end of the universe to even have a hope of producing but one creature of such perfection. Yet it is possible. Only human genes are used in making replicants. That is the law. I remember reading that my grandfather said in a debate with a priest that we were not challenging the Lord, just speeding our progress to his ultimate goals for humanity. Ironically using science, our apple of knowledge, to recapture paradise lost. Even more remarkable was her face. Exquisitely beautiful and soft, almost serene. Deep blue eyes of infinite depth and expressiveness set off by a soft river of jet black hair. A Raphael painting come to life. I had never before seen a replicant with such a soulful countenance. Not even Helen. She seemed almost...human. "Hi everyone, I am Katassia!' . Her voice was filled with genuine enthusiasm. Too human, I thought, this must be an act. None of the aloof arrogance which she was bred for. I hate when Replicants lower themselves to human standards in order to 'relate' with us. The scrawny guy spoke first: "Katassia, your body is so muscular and powerful. I have always been really skinny. Is there anything I can do to build myself up?" I could see the scenario evolving. I had seen it before. Katassia would bring him onstage. She would demonstrate to him several lifts using progressively more incredible weights. Her biceps exploding out of her arms like the Himalayas bursting forth from the Indian subcontinent. Each magnificent peak drained of blood by glacier like veins. . Then she would ask him to try . He would accept her gauntlet no matter how absurd. Refusing to accept the immutable limits set by his DNA. Perhaps we fight due to our innate lack of understanding of probabilities. We ignore the numbers, the statistics. Guided only by our faith in the transcending strength of our spirit. The Faith gene must have been edited out of the replicant's DNA. Discarded as a useless remnant of our superstitious past. Replicants live their lives guided by statistics and formula. The aliens derive little pleasure fighting them. They are too preoccupied calculating their chances of survival to even notice they are dying. Eventually she would end the charade. Perhaps lifting him and the weight over her head. His scrawny legs dangling in the air, kicking fecklessly like a frog held out of water. Yet he would hold on , literally to his grip gave out. His spirit betrayed by the weakness of his flesh. The room would explode in laughter, ostensibly at the fecklessness of the poor soul fallen onto the stage. In reality at ourselves. Her physical perfection is a metaphor - the embodiment of all we are not. Physical and intellectual cripples. Why should we compete with the replicants? Why did I? By what miracle of statistics did I succeed? Was I as improbable as Katassia? A once in a Universe roll of the genetic dice? "Actually sir, I believe by improving your nutrition you can enhance your muscle mass quite significantly. I have several suggestions if you are interested". She actually sounded concerned for him. The room went silent. "Well. Do you really think so. is it possible.. I am so skinny?" He was conflicted. Drawn by the erotic, the hope of being dominated by a woman so perfect, so superior in every measurable dimension and ability. I was confused. Was she sincere? Or was this a particularly cruel and humiliating ploy? Elevate his hopes, the humiliation will be all the more exquisite. Yet she sounded so sweet, so sincere.. The onanist interjected : "Katassia, can't you see he will always be a pathetic wimp! Just tell him the truth. Or maybe wrestle him to prove it. Do you think you could crush a human male with one arm?" " Nobody is a pathetic wimp. Everyone here has their own special inner strength. You just have to listen. Also there is nobody who cannot improve their health and appearance through regular exercise and nutrition. Even you could benefit from weight training if you can keep your hands out of your pants long enough to finish a set". The crowd erupted in laughter. I was impressed. Sympathetic and tough. A sense of humor. God forbid, I was starting to like her. I connected to this site for fantasy, to worship a Goddess. To be completely dominated, both physically and intellectually. Sympathy is a human emotion. I did not want to be reminded of emotions. "Katassia " I asked. "According to your bio you are training for a physique contest. What is your target mean muscle mass and quality factor?" My computational module was primed, ready to calculate to the n th digit her physical superiority over mine, to revel in the numerical proof of my unworthiness. " I hope to achieve a muscle mass of 70 kg and a quality factor of 8. I feel you have the advantage over me. You know my name while I do not know yours". "My name is ", I paused, "24". That is an incredible mass and quality factor Katassia. The average 24 chromosome human male who works out is at best a 2 or 3". I thought about all the health supplement companies which sprung up at the end of the 20th century. Human limitations overcome by chemistry. It turned out the skeptics were right - it was mostly who your parents were - best if they were test tubes. "You seem to know a lot about myofibril development 24. Where did you learn so much?". I should not tell her. If the government found out we could be killed. Her first. Me after the war - provided anyone is left to kill me. "In the military". She probably thought I was a grunt. Alien laser fodder. "That is impressive 24. All of you soldiers are wonderfully brave" (if she only knew how scared I was just talking with her. Sometimes it is easier to face death than beauty). Contact me if there is anything I can do to help you and your unit". "I will". I felt almost compelled to tell her, to impress my Goddess with my worthiness. Fortunately a flood of questions interrupted me. After a half hour I said good bye. "Goodbye Katassia, I have to go". "Good bye 24, stay in touch". She looked at me with her deep blue eyes and gave me an adorable little finger wave. Very girlish. Almost silly from someone so powerful, yet very touching. I had to learn more. Part IV We are all artists, writers, poets, as children. Yearning to express each new discovery. The world is fresh, even the mundane special. Each child has a unique perspective on life , creativity unbridled by rules and technique. Ironically our powers of observation fade as our technical abilities mature. The more subtle beauty in the world drops below our threshold of perception. Eventually we forget this beauty exists. We are drawn to the spectacular since it is all which penetrates our blindness. The artists of today may explore worlds unimaginable in my Grandfathers time. A few replicants have even linked to explore the aesthetic possibilities of 5 dimensional spaces. Yet the work of the most talented replicant artist fails to move me so much as a human child with only a paper and crayon. There is no urgency of expression. No spontaneity, no exuberance. No longer the need of a child to as Katassia wrote in a poem: "... to shout out to the world, I am here!, I am alive! I have done this and I want to share it with you!" I never met anyone who truly lived these words, human or replicant, more than Katassia . The next day I received a message, written in the style of a Medieval illuminated manuscript. Each letter in the opening paragraph almost grotesquely enlarged and highlighted, encrusted with garnets and emeralds. Sinuously flowing lines merging into a swirling geometric background. She explained that she was studying Celtic illuminated texts for a fantasy site she was designing and thought I might enjoy this. Site art was her main profession since being banned from the games. Physique aesthetic contests were more of an avocation. She thanked me for participating in the chat room. She wrote I appeared to be a first timer and apologized for the behavior of some of the others. I felt touched, almost blushing. I forgot I could blush. A stranger - a beautiful replicant no less- who appeared concerned about my feelings. She asked me where I was stationed and if I knew some of the soldiers she corresponds with. If so to please pass on her love. Connecting is forbidden on the front. I wondered what she meant by 'love'. Did she really love these men, all humans? How well must you know someone to love them? Do we have a finite amount of love to give? Or perhaps it is proportional to the number of objects of our affection? Maybe this is why God created us - even a being with an infinite capacity for love needs at least one other to express it. I wonder if he would prefer that the aliens left a human or a replicant as that one? Or perhaps an alien would do. Just as long as one sentient being survives to be inserted into the equation. At first I was disappointed with Katassia's site. A typical worship site. Simplified for our limited human intelligence with clearly defined sections and themes. No extensive use of 4D space thank God. I entered the image room. A collection of images from her contests and other athletic events. Sight, sound, but no touch. Too bad. She looked spectacular. Some were for purchase. Not an option since the military could trace me. Another room had her list of accomplishments. A litany of championships and awards in both athletics and art. Exceptional, in the top 1%, even for a replicant. As I explored I realized there was something special here, almost magical. Poems, stories, art, philosophy, psychology, quotes, all scattered seemingly randomly through the rooms and passages. None of the mathematical organization of a typical replicant site. No vast indexes and maps. Covering the walls were inspirational vignettes taken from her life, paeans to the power of God and our spirit to allow us to overcome our limitations and fears. A replicant with spirit? Spontaneity? Anxieties and doubts? I was enchanted. I was reminded of the diary of a young girl, filled with intimacies and immediate impressions. Yet each thought, each work of art, bespoke of a sophisticated intelligence. Emerging completely formed, like Venus de Milo from the clam shell.. Part V The room is almost full. I scan my fellow life forms, recessed in their darkened velvet curtained enclosures. Mostly humans. Men and women. The women just watch. The men mostly virtually enhanced - huge chests and massive biceps. Pathetic. Even in their imagination they cannot achieve the balance, the harmony of genetics and environment expressed by the replicants. Their attempts are comical, grotesque. Proportions exaggerated like cartoon heroes in a human child site. I notice a few replicants. Unusual in a worship site for humans. Their booths are well lit - the better to model their engineered perfection. Some booths are completely darkened. Katassia once wrote me that these booths intrigue her most of all. Two other human males are in their natural form. I can barely make out one. The darkness completely surrounds him. A very slight man, his body tensely coiled. I sense he would break with the slightest perturbation. Maybe he has post traumatic stress disorder - a common disease of the 20th century solider. Very rare now. As the drug advertisements trumpet: 'you no longer need to live with the pain of sensitivity'. Just shoot up and let the aliens shoot you down! Yet some humans do not respond to the drugs. There is a medical term for them - for almost all of the human condition now. Our emotions and passions all neatly classified in terms of neurotransmitter imbalances and neural malformations. What we once called souls are now symptoms. I like to think he is one of the blessed ones. His soul too strong to be anaesthetized even by modern psychopharmacology. Perhaps he alone morns for our world. I envy him. At least he can still feel. Katassia does not discriminate. Her light draws both the blessed and the damned. The other 'human' is remarkable average. No exceptional features, plainly dressed. Fortunately I have a clear view. I will perform some calculations. Katassia chided my love of calculations in her messages. She told me I should listen to my spirit and not try to capture everything in numbers. I protested. What if I have no spirit? She is right. However calculations are often useful... He is precisely average. No human would choose to be so statistically correct. Nor a replicant, they have too much pride in their quantifiable superiority. He is the alien. I could just kill him. Their safety lockouts are ineffective here - probably by choice. I have killed many of his kind in the web. You have to give the aliens entertainment. Otherwise they will attack you without warning, their ship invisible to detection until it is too late to escape. Your life ending in an epic battle. The ultimate test of your spirit -the aliens go to painstaking lengths to give us a chance for victory. They live for the battle, not the conquest. Facing death brings them a deeper appreciation of the blessings of life. The Replicants do not understand this philosophy. Our government pumps ever more into new technology to fight the aliens. The aliens match each advance. Easy for them. Based on my calculations their culture is at least a million years older. Earth is a police state now. Rumors everywhere of alien spies. How else would they anticipate our every development? If only the Replicants would admit that there are sentient beings in this Universe far more advanced than they are. Part VI We should forsake our space ships and technology and return to the simple weapons and ways of our ancestors. To train in the spirit and philosophy of warfare, like the ancient Kung Fu masters. The aliens would meet us fairly on the battlefield. Sword against sword. A technological stalemate. But our souls would be prepared for the battle. Katassia studied the ancient forms of battle. Kung Fu, Tai Chi. She used them when she was a champion in the games. The games are the modern equivalent of gladiatorial combat. But sanitized and highly technical - like all replicant sports. They are played in virtual reality. However the physical and mental demands on the competitors are as taxing as if they were in real space. Her success was a mystery to the replicants. She used no weapons, and fought with an elegance and economy of form. None of the elaborate maneuvers and theoretical strategies taught in the Replicant schools. More importantly she fought with passion, each blow guided by the strength of her inner spirit. Eventually she was banned. Ostensibly for her physical style being against regulations. In reality the replicants could not understand her mind, her unvanquishable spirit. It is the same reason they fare so poorly against the aliens. My spirit is not strong except in the desire to stay alive. So I cheat. Lure the Aliens from their chosen battlefield. Take advantage of their curiosity, their love of all forms of expression and drama, human and replicant. They are appreciative of our efforts on the net. Some of them have even signed our guest books. I always let them face me before I terminate them. To let them have that moment when their life is at its most intense. To allow them a last prayer, a last goodbye. It is risky. But otherwise their deaths would be obscene, almost gratuitous. . \ I wonder if killing the alien would impress Katassia? Show her that I am not just another pathetic voyeur.. I cannot kill him. What if he is the last one? I doubt he has any such philosophical objections. Why should he? He is offering me the ultimate blessing. Allowing me to again understand what it means to be alive. Tonight I will ask Katassia ... Part VII I started to leave messages for her in her private lounge on her site. Only a select few of us are allowed there. We exchanged small updates about our lives. I described to her my theories on the aliens. She sent me suggestions for my health during space travel. Often I would find waiting for me a short poem or artistic image, an inspirational vignette or phrase. Each one providing a glimpse of life from her perspective, where each day still promised new discovery: of beauty, truth, or insight. I envied her ability to view life with the wonderment of a child. To live each day with the fullest intensity, a celebration of the miracle of existence. I thanked her for allowing me to recapture memories of my childhood. . For reminding me of the joy I once had. Yet sometimes I felt a twinge of disappointment after reading her messages. They always ended so formally. Perhaps she sends the same messages to all her chosen apostles. She preferred I call her Kat. Sometimes she referred to Katassia in the third person. We started to confide in each other. Share our anxieties about life. She assured me that replicants have them too. I was surprised how many. Helen rarely confided in me. One time she wrote: 'when I am up on stage people do not see the physical, mental and spiritual struggles that go into that final product that they worship, idolize.... love etc..' Her words stunned me. I had never considered a Goddess away from her temple. The sacrifices she must constantly make for our devotion - and for such pittances. Why does Katassia appear in the lounge? . It is not for the money. Her Virtual Art site is very successful. Was it the adulation of the worshippers? Or perhaps she is drawn there by our humanity. Ironically the very human essence which I sought to escape there. The worship lounge provides a controlled environment.. She can have our companionship without the risk of true intimacy - the danger of the merging with our souls. She is protected by the separation of the stage, the anonymity of the worshipers, the hubbub as we fight to receive her blessings. The hope of being selected, as myself, to be one of the favored few. Priests in her private temple. In the lounge she is the performer, the star. I am a regular visitor there now. Yet when I address her as Kat I am quickly cut off. I must use Katassia. Perhaps she is telling me: " Here I am Isis. You are in my temple. I am in control here. Either worship or leave." I once put the question of 'why' to Kat. She answered in the third person. Katassia objectified:. 'Does Katassia love all these men, these humans? Not by any stretch of the imagination.....Katassia is a replicant but with a human heart... more like an alien.. she's had sayers speak of her life on their mother ship... the astral light that surrounds her... .Katassia enjoys the unlikely surroundings of the lounge... the darkness, voices that call out from dimly lit tables.... heavy velvet curtains partitioning the room into sections... replicants, humans and other.... .. no ending to this ...one.' Am I one of the unloved? Part VIII Katassia arrives, tumbling onstage into a spectacle of laser lights and sound. I am no fan of Fitnastics - all flash, no substance - yet her routine is spectacular. Beams of laser light, Katassia flying across the stage, long hair whipping wildly about. Century old Techno pop music blasting. The crowd is enthralled. A thunder of applause. She catches her breath, sweat glistening from her taut skin. She is about 15 kg larger than when I first saw her. Every muscle sculpted and defined. The additional muscle mass in an attempt to achieve the mandated ideal proportions of her new sport . I struggle not to worship. I remind myself it is really Kat onstage, Katassia is an illusion. It is difficult. She is radiant. " Hi Charles, I am glad you can make it". She greets the PTSD guy. I feel disappointed, I hoped she would greet me. "Hi Katassia, thank you. You were great. However I do not know what kind of routine that is". Katassia must have invited him here. Maybe he left a message at her Site. She often brings the lost souls she meets here. Maybe that's what this lounge is to her - a lost and found for souls. "I thought your routine was wonderful too , Katassia". "Thank you 24". No special recognition in her voice. Am I just another lonely guy connecting for the illusion of companionship? "Katassia, how are your contest preparations coming along?" I am worshipping. My spirit too weak to resist the lure of my Goddess. " Very well 24, do you have any more questions Rich?" We all think we are special in the eyes of our Goddesses.. There is no end to our vanity. I remember the alien. I look across the room. He knows.... In virtual reality a shot cannot kill you, just overload your implants for a while. Unless of course your safety locks are disengaged. Your brain cells incinerated by the surge of energy from your overloaded implants. Part IX I awake to see the stage transformed. It is now an ancient Asian martial arts tournament chamber. A Kumite, a tournament where the warriors battled to the death. In the center are Katassia and the Alien. Wearing the white robes of the Kung Fu style. The old technology, swords and bare hands. They are perfectly matched as combatants - the alien way. Each killing kick anticipated and parried. A battle of the spirit - the love of life. Katassia is magnificent. I expected no less. The alien must have come here for Katassia, not me. He too must have sensed the strength of her spirit. Finally, a worthy adversary amongst these pathetic creatures. Even through the white robes Katassia's grace and power are remarkable. Crouched like a cat she parries each of the alien's deadly strikes and kicks. She rarely strikes herself. She once told me she was afraid to fight humans, unsure whether their frail bodies could withstand her enhanced strength. The battle is entrancing. Magnificent. I have to do something though. Kat does not know. "Kat,disconnect, he is an alien". I feel the pain in my virtual ribs. The alien pauses. Katassia gains the advantage. She grabs the alien by his neck and rears back her other hand, prepared to deliver a death blow. The alien faces death. His eyes stare at Katassia, poised to receive the ultimate blessing from a replicant Goddess. . . Katassia hesitates. The alien will not. She has to kill him now.. "Kill him Katassia" "24, I cannot kill him". "You must Katassia, that is their way". "It is not mine, 24". I fire my laser. Katassia absorbs the impact. She could not let me take his life. It would be sacrilege for her to deprive a sentient being of even a millisecond of the existence she so treasures. The life she lives with such intensity and joy. The second shot hits the alien. He turns to me, grateful, he now knows.. The last one dies. There will be no love at the end of the Universe. I cradle Katassia's fallen body. Her safety locks are disengaged. "Katassia, I.." "You did what you must 24, do not apologize" "No Katassia, I..." Her body softens in my arms, almost human now. Is this a sign for me, or just her cortical implants failing? She vanishes. Still alive? Unlikely. My question eternally unanswered .. The crowd applauds. Greek tragedy at no extra charge. I disconnect my safety and activate my laser. I will soon know if the aliens are right.