JOURNAL ENTRY: JOSEPHINE LEE, MARCH 20, 2065

Part of me wishes I weren’t in school full-time so I could join in the protests. And then part of me is glad I have an excuse not to.

Because.

It’s hard to even record this.

Don shot someone.

A guard. Not another person. Well, guards are people, too, of course.

God, I’m an incoherent mess.

We were talking about getting married after we’re out of school. Now… I don’t know. Can I marry a man who would shoot someone else, even if it’s meant as an act of protest? He’s trying to make the world a better place. The whole movement is. But… it doesn’t feel right.

We can’t have a world in which human competition with bots results in a free-for-all drug and mech culture, where people are driven to destroy their bodies in order to stay competitive in an increasingly automated labor market. We have to protect human labor, and that can only come if the government steps in to regulate drug production. The free market won’t last long if the endgame is driving people to an early death. The blatant bias is evident in the laws that protect bot manufacturers. Corporations and their property are better protected than the citizens of the United States.

Wow. It’s a lot easier to slip into debate and analysis than confront my own feelings.

This isn’t about politics or economics or law. Not for me, not right now, or at least it shouldn’t be. I should be thinking about Don. About Uncle Phil. About my future, my life. Where’s the analysis for all that, brain?

JOURNAL ENTRY: JOSEPHINE LEE, MARCH 27, 2065

I almost broke up with Don today.

He promised not to fire another gun, not if it meant losing me.

I can’t reconcile nonviolence in one part of my life with violence from another. I can’t.

Don thinks I should try it once—come to a protest and shoot someone—before I make up my mind about shooting the guards. As if it’s not good enough to believe what Kanata-san teaches, that I have to experience it for myself.

Maybe I should, to meet him halfway, to prove it to both of us. There’s a logical fallacy in here somewhere. I can sense it, but I can’t get my thoughts to focus on it.

He promised not to shoot anyone again. That has to be enough.

JOURNAL ENTRY: JOSEPHINE LEE, APRIL 13, 2065

I broke down and talked to Kanata-san about it. I asked him for a one-on-one session, and he granted me fifteen minutes! I’m still so deeply honored.