They call it Rapture. Sure, there's the official term of "cognitive waveform transference" but no one actually calls it that outside of official reports. No, it's "Rapture" because the word is just too damn perfect for what it is.

So what is it? Well, it's a mind upload. But that's only part of why it's called Rapture.

See, space is big. Really big. And as Einstein showed us, mass increases exponentially with speed. So, if you want to get anywhere beyond the local solar system in anything resembling a reasonable timeframe, it's best to not bring any extra baggage with you. That includes the eighty kilo bag of meat we generally keep our minds in.

So they put your meat bag into a machine, the machine scans your brain, and it puts all the important bits into a computational matrix. It's rather humbling when you see that the entire human mind can be replicated in a chip the size of a dust mote. But they don't just replicate it, they enhance it.

Once you're in a computer, you can be smarter just by running the computer faster. And these little things run far, far faster than our meat brains ever could. That's the first reason it's called Rapture, because once you experience it—once you write a symphony in a second, or teach yourself quantum chromodynamics just for a lark—you never look back.

Anyway, once all that's done, they pack a few dozen other minds in that chip with you, then stick it inside a tiny little needle. At the tail end of that needle, a few milligrams of antimatter. Presto! Instant spaceship! Toss in a simulated reality for those on board, and you have several dozen crew in a ship weighing less than a gram. And half of that gram is ablative shielding for the front. Single molecules at near light speed can make a pretty big dent, after all. But anyway, all snuggled in tight, they send you zipping off to explore the stars.

Now, these little needle ships can get up fairly close to cee, but even at three-quarter light, it's still decades and centuries to many destinations. That's the second reason they call it Rapture. It's a one-way trip to the heavens.

With me so far? Good. Now, here's the problem. I signed up. I was ready to go. My family and I didn't really see eye to eye, I hadn't had a date in years, and my last job was shitty enough that I don't want another. I wouldn't be leaving much behind, save an ailing body and a highly abused liver turning cancerous, which the docs say will kill me within a year. So I passed the psych evals, let them run the background checks, and signed all the papers. Finally, after all the headache, they strapped me in the chair with the wires going to my head, leaned me back, gave me a tranquilizer, and activated the big machine. But then nothing happened.

Well, not "nothing" nothing, but nothing happened to me, my actual self. The technician said the transfer was complete, and that as soon as they verified that the waveform was properly saved, he'd take care of me. A moment later, a virtual face—my face—appeared on the screen. He said he was me. That he remembered everything of my life. Then he talked about his new experiences. He said it was "amazing" and, in between answering basic diagnostic questions for the technician, raved about how much clearer everything was, how much faster he could think, and how excited he was to go to the stars.

Damnit, that was supposed to be me! I was the one that was supposed to be going! But I was still stuck in this feeble meat bag in the chair. And that's when I learned the third reason it's called Rapture. Only the digitally saved are taken to heaven.

Which brings us to the final reason it's called Rapture. Once you're left behind by a copy that thinks it is you, you suddenly realize why you've never heard of this "copy" detail before. Maybe it's not the true, biblical "End of Days", but stuck, tranquilized, in a meat bag which you now know is never leaving the room alive, it may as well be.