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The Imitation of Christ

The Imitation of Christ

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The Imitation of Christ

39 pages
23 minutes
Jan 6, 2012


In an artificial world whose inhabitants used advanced neurotechnology to implant skills and habits in playing status games, Pavel trumped all his friends by making himself believe in Christianity. But whether true or false, his new faith wielded a power over Pavel's mind neither he nor his friends expected....

Jan 6, 2012

About the author

Raymund Eich files patent applications, earned a Ph.D., won a national quiz bowl championship, writes science fiction and fantasy, and affirms Robert Heinlein's dictum that specialization is for insects.In a typical day, he may talk with university biology and science communication faculty, silicon chip designers, patent attorneys, epileptologists, and rocket scientists. Hundreds of papers cite his graduate research on the reactions of nitric oxide with heme proteins.He lives in Houston with his wife, son, and daughter.

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The Imitation of Christ - Raymund Eich

The Imitation Of Christ

Raymund Eich

CV-2 Books ● Houston

A few minutes after midnight, the partygoers’ attention focused on Pavel. What’s your resolution for the new year? Galt asked.

Pavel’s chest swelled, and he grinned. I’m going to become a Christian!

A dozen mouths sagged open, and silence filled the mindlink. Perfect! They’d be talking about this for years! For a time, the only noise in the room came from the jaws of the cleaning robots, as they munched the shards of a smashed sculpture. Finally, Helene laughed and clapped. Pavel Kweisivich, you are brilliant!

I try, he said. Some of the others then parroted Helene. Nella, though, stayed silent; he turned to her. What do you think, love?

She frowned, ran her fingers through her platinum blond hair. You’re serious?

It’s only a year, he said. She glanced away.

Galt stared down his nose, his red van dyke aimed at Pavel. I thought you were too smart to dabble in superstition.

Of course I am.

Galt sniffed. That makes your resolution twice as stupid.

[Across the mindlink burst an image, Galt cloaked in shame for being unsupportive.] Channing, of course; her unvoiced resolution was to communicate without words. [A second image followed: Channing, properly dressed in miniskirt and bodypaint, extending a hand to a Pavel clad in rags and pilgrim sincerity.]

I think you overstate Pavel’s intentions, Helene said. [A brilliant ploy, she said to him privately. Galt won’t forgive you for years.]

[Yes, well--]

[Helene laughed. --no loss, that.]

I hope you’re right, Helene, Nella said. So what are your intentions, Pavel?

Don’t worry, love, I’m not one of those fools who turns terrorist at the chime of the new year. My intentions are the same as yours with multisensory bluegrass, or Galt’s with aleatoric chess; to share an absurd module with my friends and laugh about it next year.


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