XXI.

  DELANEY’S WELCOME2ME was long past due. She’d been at the Every for almost four months, so when her proposal was approved, her relief was profound. It would be a good chance to get to know a large group of Everyones, and perhaps see soft spots, pressure points and weaknesses to exploit.

  “It’s perfect,” Kiki said about Delaney’s plan. “It’s very you.”

  Again Kiki looked very tired, but Delaney couldn’t think of an acceptable way to note it, or ask her about it.

  “And this is about you,” Kiki continued. “And also you in relation to the others. So it’s about both you and other people. But starting with you. And the seals—they’re seals?”

  “Elephant seals,” Delaney clarified.

  “Well, it sounds great. Kulos.”

  Delaney didn’t have the heart to correct her. “Thank you,” she said.

  “It’s very unusual. Again, like you.”

  Kiki blushed. They both seemed to recognize that her choice of words—very unusual—applied as it was to a fellow Everyone, would be flagged by end-of-day.

  “Hello!” Kiki said, and pressed her finger to her ear. She began a very loud conversation with what Delaney took to be an elderly person. In the middle of the conversation, Kiki put herself into a plank position, with her phone beneath her, her mermaid leggings—these with a salmon-pink tint—sparkling in the sun. She carried on the conversation while her triceps strained and vibrated, and when she was done, she sat up, rolled her eyes and sighed in immense relief.

  “My uncle. He’s in Argentina. One of my OwnSelf goals was to have more contact with my family down there, and it’s working out so well. Twenty-two calls in the last week, which is a few short of my goal. And I get some of my ab work done at the same time.”

  “Twenty-two calls with relatives in one week?” Delaney asked.

  “It’s a start,” Kiki said. “I’ll get better.” She was planking again. “My core needs more attention,” she said. “And I’m supposed to lose four pounds. Are you on OwnSelf yet?”

  Delaney worried about Kiki losing any weight. She couldn’t be more than a hundred pounds, her arms no thicker than a garden hose. “Who told you to lose weight?” she asked. Instantly she wondered what the AI would make of that. It was borderline.

  “My body mass index is not ideal,” Kiki said. “I got a notice. But it’s doable. Hey, you don’t speak French by chance, do you?”

  Delaney did not. “No,” she said in what she thought was a French accent. Kiki smiled wanly.

  “It’s fine,” Kiki said. “I’m trying to practice, and I figured we might as well speak in French if you knew any. I’m trying to get in twenty minutes a day, but I’m thinking it’d be easier to overlap it somehow. Like I tried exercising in French but that didn’t work.”

  Kiki’s mind was pinballing, her eyes hyperalert and unsteady.

  “Did I ask you before what your sleep average was?” she asked, and didn’t wait for an answer. “Did you hear the new research says ten hours is ideal? The guy who did Bananaskam sleeps ten hours a night. In a shroud! A few nights ago I went to bed at eight, and I thought I slept enough, but then the sensors didn’t count my hours as high-quality sleep. So last night all I could think about was sleeping in a high-quality way, and I ended up not sleeping much at all. So while the goal has gone up to ten hours, I’m down to 6.4.”

  A tinny laughtrack burst from her oval. “We should laugh. I’m low on laughter, too. Is there something funny we can talk about?”

  Delaney tried to think of a joke. She could never remember jokes. Her face must have been contorted in concentration, because Kiki let out a long, trilling laugh that devolved into hacking and coughing.

  “Do you think you’re taking on too much?” Delaney asked. Kiki was bent over, trying to regain control. She raised a finger to ask for a moment. A few seconds later she unfolded herself to her full height and breathed a series of measured breaths.

  “Such a funny face you made!” she finally said. “Boy, I had a good laugh there.” Then she checked her oval to see if the laugh had registered. Satisfied, she smiled. “What did you say again?”

  “Do you think you’re taking on too much?” Delaney asked again.

  “Thanks for asking,” Kiki said. “But OwnSelf is conscious of that. There are tons of tripwires set up to warn you of that kind of thing. Look.” She held out her forearm, where an array of numbers were pulsing. None meant anything to Delaney. “It says I’m only at 71 in terms of capacity for what I can take on. So I have a ways to go. Then I’ll be nonplussed.” A happy bell sounded from her wrist.

  Delaney found herself truly happy for Kiki, and truly worried.

  “Are we good?” Kiki asked.

  “We’re good,” Delaney said.

  “Hi Nino!” Kiki said, and peeled off.

  The idea of seeing the mating of the elephant seals arose from pure self-interest. Delaney did not have a car, and getting to Playa 36 (née Drake’s Beach), ninety minutes north, without one, was not easy or cheap. If she could take a busload of Everyones with her, she’d satisfy the needs of Welcome2Me, while seeing what she’d heard was one of the stranger natural phenomena in the world. Every year, about a hundred elephant seals, averaging a thousand pounds each, lounged for weeks on the Point Reyes shore and weaned their young. The challenge, she’d read, wasn’t seeing the elephant seals, but was, instead, not stepping over them. The viewing area was that close and the seals were wholly uninhibited as they fought and screwed and calved and returned to sea.

  With Kiki’s approval, Delaney began planning, and did so without malice. She wanted this to be good, and felt sure it could be. If she put on a decent Welcome2Me, she’d gain some favor intra-Every, and that could only help her gain access. She planned to bring Wes, and thought of asking Alessandro and Winnie, but was informed by Kiki that Algo Mas determined the participants on any given Welcome2Me event, and most campus events generally.

  “It’s the best way to ensure a good cross-section of Everypersons,” she texted, “and of course most people don’t want the responsibility of deciding who’s included and who’s not.”

  With the guest list out of the way, Delaney checked on the ranger presence for the coming Saturday, and learned that at least two, maybe three would be on the beach, explaining and guiding. Delaney wanted this to be the extent of the planning—get to the beach where elephant seals were gathered; that should be enough. But she knew there would be questions.

  “Write up the event description,” Kiki had advised. “Make it as detailed as you can. Pre-answer as many questions as possible. Make it searchable, of course. I’ve seen these run sixty, seventy pages. The line-dancing one came with a two-hour instructional video. But yours is … simpler,” Kiki said. “Have fun with it!”

  Delaney wrote a three-paragraph description of the day’s plan, including six links to basic and concise information about the seals, their history on the Pacific coast, their mating cycles, Point Reyes in general and Playa 36 specifically. “If you haven’t seen Pt. Reyes, be prepared,” Delaney wrote. “It will be spectacular.” Not that anyone living in Northern California needed to be told to bring layers, but she mentioned this, and she mentioned sunscreen, and comfortable shoes, and a warm hat if one’s ears were prone to chill. She sent a draft to Kiki, who, in a distracted moment, wrote only Food. Delaney took this to mean that the Everyones could not be expected to bring their own lunches, so Delaney arranged with a deli around the corner from the Sea Shed to create eighty sandwiches for the day, for vegans and vegetarians, pescatarians and carnivores, at least two options for every attendee, and a bounty of side salads and drinks—all to be brought on the bus in reusable containers. Delaney finished her summary of the Point Reyes plan, and Kiki took it from there.

  A group of forty-two Everyones were selected by algorithm. It was to be a cross-campus smorgasbord, a sampling rich in variety of departments and interests. And because there would be photos and possibly group photos, a representative and perhaps augmented display of the company’s diversity was essential. Once the forty-two attendees had been chosen, a message list was created, and Delaney’s now-three-page description of the event—elucidating what would be available to drink and eat, and enumerating all that need be brought—was sent to the forty-two on the Tuesday before the excursion.

  No info here for the lactose-free … said the first message, and Delaney cursed herself for this easy oversight. “Ignore that event description!” she wrote, “Better one to come!” She went through the entire three pages again, editing and adding two pages more, this time anticipating every allergy and preference. She covered gluten, eggs, nuts, nightshades, and cinnamon—recent but fast-spreading intolerances and de-preferences, respectively—and this time, in a stroke of what she considered brilliance, she mentioned the particular deli she’d engaged, Emil’s on Pacheco, in case anyone wanted to pre-order and get the precise sandwich they wished.

  Emil’s?? Have you seen this? This message linked to a photo of Emil, the young proprietor, posing with an Israeli flag, on what appeared to be a Tel Aviv beach. This was followed by seventy-six messages from a fourth of the forty-two Point Reyes attendees, most with links to bombastic articles and messages about the rightness or wrongness of Israel vis à vis Palestine and what any given Everyone would be saying by eating sandwiches made by a man (and his staff) who were so proud of Israel and its misdeeds that he so jingoistically would pose with its flag on a luxurious beach of oppression.

  “Shit,” Wes said, while eating one of Emil’s sandwiches, a pastrami-and-mustard for which he had a standing order. “Does that mean Emil isn’t catering this thing? If so, I should tell him.”

  Delaney and Wes were home, scrolling through the crossfire conflating the history of the Middle East with an Ocean Beach sandwich seller, and all the while Delaney had the sickening revelation that the excursion was still four days away. The messages so far, which soon totaled 288, had all been sent in the twenty-one hours since her announcement had been issued.

  Kiki let Delaney know that seven of the forty-two original attendees dropped out in protest and had vowed, politely and menacingly, to make a note of the Every’s seeming support of this Zionist sandwich-man, though it was unclear where these notes would be made and who would see them. Kiki was careful to explain, in a series of messages she wrote with, no doubt, a lawyer over her shoulder, that the Every did not take a political position on Israel-Palestine, and at the same time did not want to silence those on either side of the debate, and at the same time still, did not want to force anyone into supporting, monetarily or otherwise, any proponent of any one nation or flag or people or policy. Opting out of an activity like this was the choice that most respected all sides, and this opt-out option the Every fully supported.

  This was Day Two. There were four more days before the excursion. Is the bus using plant-based fuel? one attendee asked. It’s a standard Every bus, so I assume so, Delaney wrote. Do I need hiking boots? No, Delaney wrote, we’ll just be standing on sand, or in the parking lot near the beach. If you choose to walk one of the trails, you can, but even then, these trails are extremely mild, and no boots will be necessary. If you have them, though, feel free to bring them! I don’t see a packing list. Usually there’s a packing list for such an outdoor activity. I provided a packing list, Delaney answered, though you might have missed it because it’s embedded and short. You really only need yourselves and, like I said, layers, and maybe a hat. I’m even bringing sunscreen, so you can take that off the list! Wait. Did we change the list? Where’s the new list? And was it really a pdf? Why not an EveryDoc? This was accompanied by a link to the dangers of pdfs, given the countless times that viruses had been attached to them. Will I need boots? another asked. Delaney was determined to treat every question in isolation and thus cheerfully. Only if you already have them and usually wear them to such things! she wrote. But sneakers are fine. Now we need sneakers? What about sandals? Sandals are fine! But it might get nippy, so bear that in mind. How cold will it be? Forecast says 60s. Do you know something they don’t? I know only that it gets cold quick there sometimes, Delaney wrote. The fog can come in and the temp can drop to 50, even 45. Layers! she wrote, and added an emoticon. What kind of sunscreen are you bringing, Delaney? Delaney had not actually bought the sunscreen yet, so she looked online and found an organic brand, Sensible Dawn. This triggered an avalanche. Wait, now we’re supporting Scientology? an Everyone wrote, and Delaney soon found that Dawn Unger, the sunscreen’s founder, had been a Scientologist, though she didn’t seem to be one now, and had posted no content anywhere in support of Scientology. Delaney, seeing elephant seals shouldn’t involve cult-complicity, one helpful Everyone wrote, in the most measured of the messages. After four hours of screeds and ululations, totaling 413 messages covering the sins and virtues of every company that had or still did provide sunscreen to the world’s marketplace, the group settled on an organic maker based in the Antilles. That the product had traveled a few thousand miles seemed likely to provoke a skam of some kind, but at the end of Day Two, had not yet done so. Many of the subsequent questions were between fellow excursioners and did not necessitate an answer from Delaney. Anyone bringing a hat? Anyone bringing water? We’ll have plenty, Delaney answered. I have a lemon in my bag, noted one man. In case we wanted to add it to the water. Nineteen people commented on the lemon; most wanted to know where he’d gotten it. Though he’d satisfied all that he’d gotten it from his own garden, it was still spurned. None for me, thanks! Too acidic, noted one. I could bring sugar, too, the lemon-man offered. What the fuk? Sugar? was the answer, and this invited an avalanche of anti-sugar maxims and manifestos. Finally the lemon-carrying attendee, who was also relatively new at the Every, self-selected out of the trip and was replaced.

  I heard that moleskin patches are good for blisters. This was the first message the following morning. Delaney, do you have some of those patches in your first aid kit? I’ll bring some, Delaney wrote, but really, we won’t need them. We’ll just be standing on the beach looking at seals. No heavy climbing! She added a benign emoticon. Sorry if I missed a message, wrote another, but should we bring a hat? Wide-brim? Floppy? Cowboy? Pith? Any kind of hat is fine, Delaney wrote. And about the makers of those moleskin patches: company just bought by corp that does business with Chick Fil-A. Please do not support. Wake up! An angry emoticon ensued. Did we ever get the packing list onto EveryDocs? Yes, it’s there! Does the bus have wifi? It’s a standard Every bus, Delaney wrote, so I would expect it to. My bus’s wifi was down on Tuesday. I was totally unprepared for a presentation. This bus should be working fine! Delaney answered. And it’s a Saturday morning, so ideally no presentations will be at risk! She added a happy-squirrel emoji.

  The questions continued. Delaney felt obligated to read every message, given there might, among any one of the hundred or so daily threads, be something that required an answer of her. Soon the attendees had turned their attentions, briefly, to the mammals they were going to see. Are these the ones we’re seeing? one Everyperson asked, and showed a picture of a leopard seal. Delaney pointed out the difference, that leopard seals were leopard seals and elephant seals, being elephant seals, were not, and in response the questioner wrote, Phew. Those other guys seem fierce. Wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark iceberg! This joke received much praise and prompted the appearance of many laughing yellow cartoon-smiling-faces, a few of them laughing so much they were crying tears, which meant that the person who chose this emoticon was also laughing to the point of crying, too. What did we say about boots again? another attendee wrote. I looked at Pt. Reyes online and found many hills, rugged terrain, a coast (!) and even some mud. It’s quite flat where we will be, Delaney answered. You could wear heels, platforms, sandals, or ride a unicycle. Unicycle?! came the quick reply. I’m diabetic! Delaney desperately stamped out this new unicycle-fire before it could spread. No unicycles! she flailed. Just a joke! I just meant that it will be very flat, very safe. Unicycles are anything but safe! another person wrote, with a link to a series of unicycle accidents, most of them in Poland. What about socks? wrote another Everyone. I hear wool is best when near salt water, but I can’t find a brand that will certify humane shearing. Anyone know?

  On the day itself, Delaney arrived at 9 a.m. and met Emil outside the gate. He’d put the eighty sandwiches in airtight bioplastic bins and stacked them on a dolly. When Delaney arrived, he was in the process of arguing with Rowena at the Every’s front gate, who asserted the plastic containers were single-use and thus prohibited. After much discussion and a text exchange with Kiki, the sandwiches were allowed inside, were run through the scanners and were cleared for loading onto the buses and for eventual consumption. Along with two hundred drink-globes, the sandwiches were packed into the bus’s luggage compartment, and when the cantilevered door closed, Delaney almost collapsed. That, she thought, would surely be the most complicated part of the day. With a wifi bus and trained park rangers and a hundred wondrous mammals mating and squirming like giant slugs on a pristine beach, surely all pedestrian cares would fall away before the majesty of unbridled nature.

  When the attendees arrived at the bus, the vast majority of them were dressed for a final ascent of Everest. Though hiking boots had been discussed more than any other topic and repeatedly dismissed as unnecessary, all but a few of the attendees were wearing new boots, the laces and soles still stiff. Most attendees wore new floppy safari hats and scarves both decorative and functional. Most wore new water-packs. Most wore new sunglasses with flexible neck-ties. All wore organic fleece. There were fleece jackets under fleece vests, and fleece vests over fleece jackets. There was a sameness to the pants worn by most, and Delaney had a faint recollection that on Prep Day Four someone had solved for the issue of shorts vs. pants by suggesting, for a mere $280, a pair that zipped just below the knee and became shorts. Of the forty-two Everyones getting on the bus, thirty-nine were wearing these convertible pants. They all laughed for a moment about this, but then Nestor, an earnest Everyone with sardonic eyes, made the point that once a product was well-vetted by trusted friends, it only made sense for others to follow, rather than forty-two people all going forty-two directions. “The best way was the best way,” he said, and Everyone agreed.