Xiheifer hurried into the elevator. This one, operating on magnetic levitation principles, whisked him down to level –12 of his apartment complex. There he would wait until the Vehículo de Transporte de Masas Electromagnético number 4098 (VTME-4098) approached.
In the old days, these vehicles were called "trains," but—thanks to technological revolutions and regime changes paired with new manufacturers—almost everything received a new name: one more precise, more intuitive.
The VTME-4098, while still a fast, economical public transit option, no longer represented the pinnacle of mobility. Though capable of covering great distances at near–sound speeds—courtesy of its nuclear fission reactor, an obsolete and unstable technology—it was deemed, by today's standards, lamentably inefficient.
Nowadays, the fastest and most practical method was always Quantum Teleportation (QT). Though, strictly speaking, calling it "teleportation" was presumptuous. The process did not move the original body; it simply reconstructed a purified clone at the destination (the "Point B"), transferring its genetic and neural information while the original body was erased… or repurposed.
The procedure was slow, costly, and reserved exclusively for the elite.
Each individual's genetic data was stored in the National Identity Banks, used by the Global Corporate Government as a means of control and surveillance. As such, only government affiliates or members of the highest economic elites could afford the privilege.
For everyone else—the common people—there were only two options: board the VTME-4098 or walk to their destination.
The concept of a "personal vehicle" was already nonexistent. Any other form of transport had been undermined by the expansion of factories and housing, aiming to monetize every last inch of space. Cities consisted solely of gray, one-way streets that inevitably led you to your fixed destination.
Boarding the VTME-4098, he was greeted by the usual landscape: backdrops in varying shades of gray, a suffocating uniformity, a total absence of identity. A multitude of people, dressed almost identically, traveled in silence toward different points, their objectives preordained. Everything had been systematically designed to maximize efficiency—no curves, no unnecessary details, no room for chance or art.
His destination, the University of Applied Reality Sciences, hovered 2.34 meters above the ground, crisscrossed by magnetic lanes linking every campus facility.
Inside, after identifying himself at a machine that scanned his iris and extracted his biometric data, Xiheifer entered his lecture hall.
The desks—long oak tables—filled nearly all the space, leaving only three aisles: two at the edges and one down the center. Seating wasn't free. Students were methodically classified by academic performance and arranged from left to right, front to back.
The farther left and closer to the front you sat, the higher your rank. It wasn't unusual to see some proudly sporting synthetic shirts with luminous panels displaying their rank and student ID. A rudimentary system, yes, but effective for those seeking recognition: a classic meritocratic model resurrected and perfected by algorithms.
Xiheifer himself occupied neither extreme left nor right. In a room of a hundred seats, his spot was fixed: number 49… or 50. A middle ground. Invisible. Neither prominent nor cast aside.
No sooner had he sat than an alert sounded through the hall's audio system, announcing the start of the lecture. All students donned the augmented‐reality goggles resting beneath their desks. Moments later, a figure materialized before them in a virtual environment—an exuberant tropical jungle teeming with life.
Without a doubt, Professor Mr. Freincher had begun his class.
"Good day, young scholars," he greeted in his unmistakable theatrical accent. "May this session be gracious to you… and may you not have forgotten your supplemental dose of vitamin D. We don't want to die pale, do we?" He chuckled at his own failed joke. "Very well, let us continue."
"As many of you know, I do not intend to repeat information already covered at lower levels of education. The aim of this talk is to present a different, more theoretical—and less domesticated—approach to the phenomenon we call 'evolution.'"
The virtual environment filled with floating molecules, RNA strands, and primitive cellular structures.
"You know that the origin of life was likely a gradual process combining multiple factors: on a primordial Earth with favorable conditions—liquid water, minerals, geothermal energy, solar radiation—simple organic compounds formed through prebiotic chemical reactions. Minerals such as clays may have catalyzed the formation of more complex structures until self‐replicating molecules like RNA emerged, capable of storing information and catalyzing reactions."
The holographic imagery shifted, showing lipid vesicles encapsulating active molecules.
"These molecules, trapped in rudimentary membranes, gave rise to protocells. From there… well, the rest is history—or, better put, Darwin."
Freincher paused with excessive drama. Then his tone darkened:
"Therefore, let me be clear: in my view, inventions like those proposed by Mr. Elhmbrett are abhorrent. Accelerating evolution through artificial intervention is a biological heresy; any evolutionary process that aims to be sustainable must arise naturally, progressively, in phases. Everything else is technological arrogance."
Xiheifer remained impassive, neither amused nor surprised; if his count was correct, this was the nineteenth time he'd heard Mr. Freincher rant about Elhmbrett. At this point, he could attribute it equally to envy or to a martyr complex.