There is no such thing as an absolute biological imperative. Our basic human impulses can be modified, improved, or bypassed with the right tech. This horrifies the Phobics so they call us Xombies, but we are not less or more than human. We are humanity interconnected. The whole idea of what is and is not human has always been too limited.

One example is the human need to reproduce. As we all should remember, by the mid-40s, Siberian Zika had rendered 58% of the world's human population infertile. This was a global disaster. Enough people either inherited an immunity or acquired one via gene modification therapy to maintain a low but steady birth rate in the following decades. Ironically, when humanity finally started coming out of this particular decline in fertility, 40% of the surviving humans had been upgraded and connected and had lost the majority of their interest in physical copulation, favoring mutual fantasies.

This is the conundrum in which we find ourselves today. Who doesn't like to hear the sounds of the newly born, or children at play in the lanes of our villages, towns, and commonwealths? What would we be willing to do to have more of that? For us, the answer is anything but the actual act itself, played out between two sweaty smelly bodies, slapping and panting, growing and birthing. It's repulsive. Our libidos are much better satisfied in elaborate beautiful or horrible fantasies, played out with sets of strangers or with friends, taking a myriad of forms, faces, and features. It's more satisfying than the real thing, so much more exciting and without all the mess.

– The Wakeful Wanderer's Guide, Vol. 6, lines 112 to 114

It had been an orgy, of course. As soon as the wall parted, letting the two men inside, Marto could see the flushed colors on the faces and necks of the adults. Not the sort of thing to which you invite children. It showed in the eyes of all the members of the tribe. They were goofy with the afterglow of it. How many hours had it lasted? Many were partially undressed, lazily reassembling their clothes.

This was especially surprising to Marto, not because he doubted an entire tribe could engage in such activity, but that any of them might have physically acted it out. His followers thexted like mad. The tribe thexted back, along the lines of ["so what?"] ["mind your own business,"] and ["it was fantastic."] Replays were requested and refused. The first day of his book tour was becoming an immediate success.

Inside the walls, Sherwood was bustling, full of activity. It was home to thousands of the better Merited. Sets of printed homes in circular lanes surrounded an enormous central geodesic dome. One or two of the original wooden homes remained here, patched up and rebuilt, a testimony to the tribe's history. Marto approached a contingent near the western wall, where the children and adults were reuniting.

The children were shouting "Story man! Story man! Story man is here!" Children often shouted aloud. They had seen him at Gene's house and were setting the stage for a public telling later in the evening.

Marto blushed. He had not met the majority of these children, but the older ones must have told the younger ones. They may have created reenactments of the stories he led them through during his last visit. ["Thank you, children. I would be happy to lead a story later tonight. First I want to check in with your grownups here."]

["Marto, welcome back,"] John « Maryanne « Roberta « Carla « etc thexted while walking toward him. He was a big man, shirtless, with short photosynthetic hair growing out of the top of his head and spreading down his shoulders, back, and chest. He wore blue-green loose fitting draw-string pants. ["You arrived just in time. There is a cat-4 coming up the coast. We will need to stay inside tonight. You are welcome in the dome. I see you've met Gene."]

["Yes,"] replied Marto, looking over to the old outsider, who had finally found his dog, ["He's something else. What kind of arrangement do you have with him? I know my followers are curious."]

["He arrived a while back,"] John said, looking slightly uncomfortable. ["He was camped out in one of the houses outside the walls for weeks. We knew he was there, and he didn't seem interested in what we had, so we didn't bother him. That happens occasionally. Phobics passing through stay to the side of one of our communities, not causing any harm."]

["Fair point,"] said Marto, ["naturally, different tribes have different rules about it. Some accept the risk, and some don't."] Marto was being diplomatic, not trying to cast either practice in shadow. ["So what happened then?"]

["Well, he never left. He never came to talk, never walked away, just set himself up there with a bit of dried food and bags of seeds. He started a garden, and went hunting."] John winced, as Marto's followers let out the equivalent of a gasp. ["And we thought for sure he was going to starve to death. Then the storm happened."]

John knew he was being watched by Marto's followers because he did something you wouldn't bother to do unless you had people following; he released a blast of data with information about a storm hitting the Sherwood area four years ago. ["One of our sons was outside the wall when it hit. Wouldn't respond to queries or pings, no response. Turns out he was playing by the river earlier in the day, hit his head on a rock, passed out, and later rolled down into the water and was being washed away. He would have drowned if Gene had not been there. Gene picked him up and revived him and carried him back to us here. We let him and his dog stay with us for the duration of the storm, and he asked questions about our way of life; aloud, because he's phobic. Since then, we've had a symbiotic relationship with him. He's amiable and pleasant to be around. We all like Gene."]

["Have you any arrangement with him for Merit?"] Marto accepted a cider as he asked this. It was the burning question his followers wanted answered.

["Well, he has been a help with the less technical aspects of tribal life here. He's strong and works hard when given direction. It only seemed right to keep track of his Merit so we could start gifting him on a regular basis. What we did was make a model of him, and apply the Merit there."] Marto's following exploded in discussion. This day couldn't have been better. ["We tell him what his ratings are, but he doesn't get it. He keeps thinking about it like it's money. We try to explain, but it's no good."]

["How many of these kids are fathered by him?"] Marto was able to scoop this idea. He felt certain he had been the first to think of it. Surprised by both the boldness of the question and also its outrageous implications, the followers went silent.

["Six,"] sent John.

The followers exploded with questions, discussion, shock, disgust, everything. It was perfect. Several of them started engaging with John , and he found himself arguing too many points at once. Marto was losing him to the discussion scrum.

["John, ... John, ... John – I only have one more question. You said you created a model of Gene. What exactly does that mean?"]

["Oh, um, it's a construct. Like a guy in a house. It just sits there, and we award Merit to it instead of the actual person, because obviously, we can't."]

["Thanks, John, much appreciated."]

Marto walked toward the dome, leaving John to fend for himself among the flurry of questions, arguments, and protestations. He almost felt sorry for him.

At night in the central dome, with the wind whipping about the sturdy carbon fiber frame, Marto led the children in a story. They chose one he had told before, the last time he was in Sherwood, six years earlier. It was about a Giant named NoBo and a girl named Tilde, in a mythical land called the 27 lakes. NoBo seems fierce and frightening until he helps Tilde out of a pit, and they become friends and go out on adventures. Parts of the story came from the children themselves, and visuals and songs were jointly imagined, with Marto's guidance. Within 40 minutes, the young were all asleep, at which point the music started.

It was a rhythmic bricolage of drums, bird calls, waves, soaring high melodies and droning. Several members of the tribe who were expert in music imagining were creating it as they hopped, leaped, writhed, and strutted. The environment changed color and decoration with the music as imaginers added visuals to the dome via shared illusion. The walls gave way to underwater environments, film clips from the previous century, and abstract patterns. It was a dream dance, a pulsing beating heart. The crowd moved in and out of synch with each other, chaotic at times, then suddenly in unison as a common step took hold of one or several members of the group. The transitions from chaos to order also had a rhythm, in response to changes in the music, felt by all. It was libidinous and intoxicating. Sherwood knew how to party.

As the adults were dancing in the dome, Gene joined in, which Marto found amazing because he couldn't hear the music or see the visuals. To Gene, the celebration was only the rhythm of the tribe's feet, breathing, and inadvertent vocalizations. Marto admired this man, alone but not alone, living on the outskirts. He turned off the thumping rhythm and hypnotic illusions and followed along with Gene until the tribe collapsed and hunkered down for the night.

The next morning, the storm had passed. Sherwood members assessed the damage, began repairs. Part of the South wall had collapsed, along with a few smaller square dwellings. One of the glassed-in gardens was now a wreck, broken by a flying roof. A discussion started about building a blade farm like the one in Reverside. Livestock were all okay, protected by their own dome near the farms. Breakfast, offered by a subset of chefs called 'The mothers of glee,' arrived and was shared from member to member. It was a simple preparation of rice and peas in black bowls.

Scarlet « Marian « Elaine « Shandra « etc sat down next to Marto as he ate. Marto recognized her as one of the music creators from the dream dance the night before.

["I noticed you turned off the music last night,"] she thexted. ["Why? Didn't you like what we were laying down?"]

["I was dancing with Gene. I wanted to experience it the way he was."]

["But why would you want to dance without any music?"]

Scarlet was young, with a mane of tawny hair and a cat-like face. Marto got a glimpse of her tongue as she licked her whiskers. Likely it could lap water like a cat as well. He surmised she was completely non-verbal, unable to form spoken words. This was increasingly common among the younger members of the tribes.

Morphing into one or another animal form became popular in the early half of the century, but only within the more artistic communities. These mutations came at the end of a knife, with follicular implants, skin grafts, and silicone injections. They were unlike the current day variety, which took hold over time, guided by implanted interfaces; still, it was not without risks. Allergies could arise, eczema, food sensitivities, and worse. That said, it was her body to change, and since she could thext, she could remain a Merited member of the tribe.

["I was curious, so I tried experiencing things his way,"] responded Marto. ["Don't you ever wonder about how the people outside your tribe experience life?"]

["I don't think about it."] Scarlet's face was difficult to read. ["I don't suppose it concerns me what the unmerited do or think. If they don't contribute, they go away. It's a problem that solves itself, doesn't it?"]

["Maybe, but do you know where they go?"] Marto watched her reaction.

["Doesn't matter to me, so long as they don't come back unless they get better at giving. There's nothing worse than a greedy taker."]

["Is Gene a greedy taker?"]

["No, he's not. We have a model of him, and it's well Merited. He has simple wants so we can build those desires into his model. Sherwood loves Gene, so he has a place with us."] Scarlet was gazing at him sideways through oblong pupils. ["I don't see it changing much. It would be better if he went ahead and augmented. At least then he could dance with music and post his desires."]

["But he wouldn't be as interesting to me if he did."] Marto tried not to let his feelings show in these interviews. He couldn't help himself. ["He's a fascinating anomaly."]

Martina's decisive moment came in December of 2032. A storm surge combined with rising seas wiped out hundreds of homes along the Connecticut coastline. There was chaos in Greenwich as in other coastal towns. Equipped with a body cam, she rushed downhill to help residents out of their flooded homes. With the help of her family and friends, she led them back to her property on Sherwood Avenue. She opened her stores of survival supplies to them, minus any armaments, and created a makeshift refugee camp on her property. She was live broadcasting the event, and within a week, everyone in the world had seen it. She was a hero.

Gifts of food, blankets, and tons of other non-essentials flooded in. Martina and her growing following had done in an evening what FEMA could not. The Greenwich refugees were eventually relocated. Supplies from new fans continued to pour into Martina's address, along with a non-trivial amount of cash.

Rather than go back to hoarding these gifts against future disasters, Martina used her energies to set up an organization of volunteers up and down the coastline. The volunteers distributed the goods and money to those in need. With the help of the Sunshine App, her volunteers became known as heroes too.

The key functionality of the Sunshine App was to increase the popularity of people who gave their time and resources in an effort to aid others. It had yet to reach a tipping point in popularity. Martina and her volunteers gave the app a huge boost. Increasing numbers of her fans began to aspire to higher levels of helpfulness and Merit in order to become more popular online.

Over the next few years, she converted her home into a center for those who wanted to dedicate themselves to a connected life of generosity. In this way, the community of Sherwood, the first tribe, was born.

– The Wakeful Wanderer's Guide, Vol. 6, lines 121 to 125