Kuwale thrust a rolled-up pamphlet into my open hand before I turned away. I almost discarded it, but then I changed my mind. Ned Landers was on the cover, bolts protruding from the side of his neck, while an Escher-rip-off effect had him reaching out of the portrait and painting it himself. The headline read: THE MYTH OF A SELF-MADE MAN – which was, at least, wittier than anything the murdochs would come up with. When I flicked through the article within, though … there was no talk of monitoring or restricting access to human genome data, no discussion of US and Chinese resistance to international inspections of sites with DNA synthesis equipment – no practical suggestions whatsoever for preventing another Chapel Hill. Beyond a call for all human DNA maps to be “erased and undiscovered” – about as useful as imploring the people of the world to forget the true shape of the planet – there was nothing but cult-speak: the danger of meddling with quintessential mysteries, the “human need” for an ineffable secret to life, the techno-rape of the collective soul.

If Mystical Renaissance really wanted to speak for all humanity, define the fit and proper boundaries of knowledge, and dictate – or censor – the deepest truths of the universe … they were going to have to do better than this.

I closed my eyes, and laughed with relief and gratitude. Now that it had passed, I could admit it: For a while, I’d almost believed that they might have claimed me. I’d almost imagined that I might have ended up crawling into their recruitment tent on my hands and knees, head bowed with appropriate humility (at last), proclaiming: “I was blind, but now I see! I was psychically numbed, but now I’m attuned! I was all Yang and no Yin – left-brained, linear, and hierarchical – but now I’m ready to embrace the Alchemical Balance between the Rational and the Mystical! Only say the word … and I will be Healed!”

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