Mickey7 (Mickey7, #1)

by Edward Ashton

In fact, it says here that you’re a … historian?” I nodded. “Is that a job?” “Actually,” I said, “it is—or at least it used to be. The study of history can—” “Isn’t every scrap of known history available to anyone at any time?” I nodded. “So what, exactly, makes you more of a historian than me, for example?” “Well,” I said, “I’ve actually bothered to access a lot of those scraps.”

I could see right away that we were in the presence of someone who thought of himself as In Charge of Things.

“Imagine,” she said, “that one day Theseus sets out to sail around the world.” “Okay,” I said. “I know I should know this, but who’s Theseus?” “An old Earth hero,” she said. “Seriously old school—from maybe three thousand years before the Diaspora.” “Huh. And he’s sailing around the world?” “Right,” she said. “He’s sailing around the world in a wooden ship. As he goes, parts of the ship get damaged or wear out, and he has to replace them. Years later, when he finally comes home, every single board and timber of the original ship has been replaced. So. Is this, or is this not, the same ship that he departed in?” “That’s dumb,” I said. “Of course it is.” “Okay,” she said. “What if the ship is destroyed in a storm, and he has to rebuild it all at once before sailing on? Is it the same ship then?” “No,” I said. “That’s totally different. If he has to rebuild the entire ship, that’s Ship of Theseus II, the Sequel.” She leaned forward then, elbows on the table. “Really? Why? What difference does it make if he replaces every component one by one, or if he replaces them all at once?” I opened my mouth to answer, but then realized that I had no idea what to say. “This is the key to accepting this job, Mickey. You are the Ship of Theseus. We all are. There is not a single living cell in my body that was alive and a part of me ten years ago, and the same is true for you. We’re constantly being rebuilt, one board at a time. If you actually take on this job, you’ll probably be rebuilt ...