Nichols saw himself continuing the line of Hume, Jefferson, and Lincoln, inexorably marching humanity toward its rightful destiny. They had set the stage for humanity’s political future. He was setting the stage for the future of human intelligence—a future free from the stultifying constraint of biological decay and death. Sitting in his nineteenth-century English pub, Nichols had mapped humanity’s course not just for the upcoming decade or century but for millennia to come.

The image of Lauren Caldwell appeared at the doorway. Nichols signaled to her. Lauren scanned the pub’s patrons, crossed the room, and sat at Nichols’s table.

“Good evening, Lauren.”

“Good evening, Bryson.” She glanced at the top of his head. “Congratulations on your announcement.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. Or I should say, I can’t do it without you, Congresswoman.”

“Indeed you can’t.”

Nichols motioned to the bartender. “So what should we discuss first—your campaign finances, the hearings, or your cousin?”

“We’re holding a seven-point lead in the polls—”

He shook his head slightly. “I’ve kept up with the race. I just need to know how much money you need.”

“For the duration of the campaign?”

He nodded.

“Sixteen million.”

“I’ll have it transferred tomorrow.” He leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “I’m counting on you to win this one, Lauren.”

She cleared her throat. “I am as well.”

He leaned back and smiled. “So tell me about the hearings. Has your good chairwoman scheduled them yet?”

“It’s looking like they won’t happen until the fall.”

“Fall? Lauren, the momentum is now, not in the fall.”

The bartender set a drink in front of Lauren. She picked up the glass. “The Technology and Innovation Subcommittee is largely booked until the August recess. And this isn’t on her priority list. If your schedule hadn’t moved up…”

He sighed. He was used to the corporate world, where a CEO could actually get things done. The political arena, with its perpetual give-and-take, frustrated him. “We need to keep pressing for an earlier time. How many days of hearings are we counting on?”

“Three.”

“How much can we accomplish in that time?”

“You mean can we generate enough public pressure on the administration to force them to cover your transplants?”

“Precisely,” he responded.

This was why Nichols gave Lauren Caldwell the time of day, much less tens of millions to finance her political career. He needed someone on Capitol Hill to champion one small cause: getting brain transplants paid for by the government under the national health plan.