Welcome to the Madhouse

by S. E. Sasaki

  “How can I resist when you ask so nicely?” Dr. Cech said. “I shall endeavor to come by some time soon, Octavia, if you wish.”

  “That would be wonderful, Dejan. Thank you so much. And you, Dr. Lord? We really should store an imprint of your memories as well. I am sure you have so much knowledge to impart to us, from all of your travels and experiences. Please consider putting some time aside to make a ‘memprint’, as we have decided to call them, for want of a better word. It does not take too long and we have devised a way to make it totally painless. You may ask my colleagues, here, if you wish. They have both undergone the procedure.”

  “I slept through my memprint recording,” Natasha Bartlett admitted, with a laugh. “It was actually very relaxing.”

  “There really was nothing to it,” agreed Morris Ivanovich, with an expressionless shrug.

  “As long as you do not store me anywhere near Dr. Cech’s memory, Octavia. I want to get away from this man. It is bad enough that I seem to be forever punished by having to work alongside him all of the time. The thought of him being next to me for perpetuity would make me want to kill myself,” Dr. Al-Fadi exclaimed.

  “Well, if you do, we can always revive you,” Octavia Weisman quipped. “Honest, Hiro, we will try and accommodate all of your wishes just because you are you and we love you.”

  “Who is ‘we’?” Dr. Cech asked, frowning and looking around.

  “Traitor!”

  “Fussbudget!”

  “Hypocrite!”

  “Whiner!”

  Just then, Dr. Weisman’s wrist-comp sounded.

  “I’m sorry, doctors. We three have to leave. They are ready for us in the OR. But don’t forget to drop by my lab for your scans. I don’t want to have to hunt you down again. Hiro? Dejan? And you, too, Dr. Lord?

  “Come by for a personal tour, Grace. The neurosurgery wards are N1 to N15 inclusive. Just page me if you are interested. I promise I will make it worth your while.”

  Octavia Weisman grinned and winked at Grace with a side-long glance at Hiro Al-Fadi, to gauge his reaction. Then she walked out.

  “Opportunist,” Dr. Al-Fadi called after her retreating back. He turned to scowl at Grace. “Don’t you even think about it, Dr. Grace.”

  “There goes the ‘Great One’,” Dr. Cech whispered loudly.

  “Blasphemer!”

  “You’re just jealous, Hiro.”

  The surgeon’s glare turned into a chuckle, and he nodded, “Yes, I most certainly am. Octavia Weisman is a brilliant doctor, a scientific genius on the cutting edge of her field, and a wonderful woman. You know, Dr. Cech, if I wasn’t married ...”

  “. . . Dr. Weisman would not come anywhere near you with a ten meter pole,” Dr. Cech said flatly.

  “Ha! She would be all over me.”

  “How pathetically pitiful your delusions are, Hiro,” Dr. Cech sighed. “However, I do have some very good drugs that could take care of them for you.”

  “Drug pusher.”

  “Fatuous fantasizer.”

  “Quarrelsome quack.”

  “Pathetic pipe-dreamer.”

  “ . . . Pah!”

  Bud’s liquid crystal data matrix was reeling. Using his newly-modified, highly-mobile, aerial surveillance nanobots, he had been eavesdropping on the doctors’ conversation in the doctors’ lounge, while he was setting up the operating room for the next case. He had almost dropped some of the sterile instruments on the operating room floor in his surprise at what he had heard.

  Dr. Octavia Weisman could download entire memories, entire personalities, into an organic body or an android body? Could Bud’s memories be implanted into a human body? Could he become fully human?

  . . . Would he want that?

  . . . Would the humans be willing to do it for him, if he requested it?

  Of course not. Androids had no rights and therefore would not be given access to a human body.

  Bud would have to study Dr. Weisman’s data, to see if what she told Dr. Al-Fadi, Dr. Cech, and the glorious Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord was true. It would take him a few seconds to get through all her pass-codes and multilevel encryptions, but only because he did not want to leave behind any trace that he had accessed her files.

  He directed a subroutine portion of his mind to continue to set up for the next operation, as he concentrated on getting the information he so desired. He shoved away the unusual ‘feelings?’ he was experiencing—which he suspected were of ‘guilt’ or ‘remorse’—as he skillfully hacked Dr. Weisman’s system. He did not quite see it as stealing really, as he was not planning to incur any monetary gain from the information, and he was sure she would make the data available to all, in time. He was just getting the information a little early and for a good reason. He wanted to protect the marvelous Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord. Idly, Bud wondered if this was what was meant by the expression: ‘The end justifying the means’.

  Once inside Dr. Weisman’s domain, which he felt was far too easy to access, Bud downloaded all of Octavia Weisman’s data and files, along with the research files of all the personnel who worked under her—just for good measure—into his memory crystal. He would go over it all, carefully, when he had a second. He did not want to overlook a thing.

  What if the endearing Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord’s memprint could be downloaded into an android body? Then they could be together forever. No fragile, aging human body that eventually became diseased and died for the mortal Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord. No death to worry about, any more. No sickness or serious injury to mar their endlessly happy existence.

  Bud’s mind spun at the possibility. He could not think of a more desirable future. No death to ever again threaten the life of the precious Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord.

  Bud had never really thought about ‘death’ before. He had watched humans die on the operating table, seen their auras rise up from their bodies and float gently away. He had seen many dead bodies come to the medical station in the cryopods. He had never, however, really thought about ‘death’ in terms of himself.

  Ceasing to exist.

  Did Bud, as an android, really exist?

  He believed he did.

  But ceasing to be? Bud had never thought about not ‘being’ anymore. He had become aware on the day Dr. Al-Fadi had activated him. He had been ‘conscious’ ever since. If he really considered it, he did not wish to go back to ‘not being’. How could humans face the knowledge that in such a very short period of time, they would not ‘be’ anymore?

  It was unbearable.

  If Bud was given the choice, would he choose an organic body and inevitable ‘death’, in order to be truly human? To be a human male alongside the winsome Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord, would he choose to live only a human lifespan? To be free and have the full rights of a human being, would he give up his longevity as an android?

  The answer was a categorical ‘Yes’.

  But with Dr. Weisman’s new technology, couldn’t Bud and the charming Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord do either—be both human or be both android—together? Bud thought about this and his mind seemed to quake at the thought of the word ‘together’.

  Would the untouchable Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord ever choose to be an android, give up her organic body and her freedom as a human, in order to live forever, as an android? Who wouldn’t, if given the choice? Then again, androids had no individual rights. As an android, would the wondrous Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord have to give up all the rights and freedoms she automatically had as a human?

  Where was humanity situated? Was it in the body or in the mind? How was it defined, when humans were given mechanical bodies or animal bodies? Was a human mind implanted into an android body still considered a human being? Was an android mind implanted into a human body still considered an android with no rights? Bud’s computational array was spiraling. He had no answer for all of these questions and it was making his liquid crystal data matrix almost vibrate.

  Still, Bud decided he had to make sure the intelligent Dr.
Grace Alexandra Lord went for her memprint, no matter what. He could easily make the appointment for her. He could just make it look like Dr. Weisman was assigning Dr. Lord an appointment, but the request for the appointment would actually be coming from Bud. The unaware Dr. Grace Alexandra Lord would never suspect a thing. If he made appointments for Dr. Al-Fadi and Dr. Cech at the same time, she would feel compelled to accompany them, wouldn’t she? She would have no excuse but to go.

  Bud’s mind could barely contain his ...?excitement? Is that what ‘excitement’ felt like? Like one could barely keep from doing handsprings and jumping out of one’s synthetic skin? Like one wanted to dance a jig, while balancing on a tightrope, stretched tight across a bottomless crevasse, while the universe looked on in indifference?

  . . . It was terrible!

  The question was, if Grace did get the summons, would she go?

  Bud’s eye began to twitch, for some unfathomable reason . . .

  Chapter Seven: Memprints

  After their shift in the operating room had finished, Grace, Dr. Cech and Dr. Al-Fadi all got pages on their wrist-comps to go to the Neurosurgical unit for memprint scans.

  “Why the audacity of Dr. Weisman, to be so pushy,” Dr. Al-Fadi exclaimed.

  “I kind of like aggressive, assertive women,” Dr. Cech admitted, one corner of his mouth rising in a smirk.

  “That is because you are a spineless worm with no pride, Dr. Cech. You should try to be more like me.”

  “And how would that be, Dr. Al-Fadi?” Dr. Cech asked inquisitively. “Abrasive? Arrogant? Annoying? Self-Absorbed? . . . Short?”

  “No, you irreverent miscreant. Just ‘independent’, not ushered around by your nose-hairs, like a little lamb.”

  “I was not aware my nose-hairs were long enough to do that. They must be what I am tripping over constantly. And here I always thought it was you, Hiro. I suppose I shall have to ask my wife to trim these treacherous nasal locks for me, in case they one day trip me up and I accidentally squash you.”

  A barking guffaw inadvertently escaped Grace’s mouth, which she quickly converted into a hacking choke, smothering it all with a hand to her mouth. She looked guiltily over at Dr. Al-Fadi.

  “Please don’t encourage him, Dr. Grace,” Dr. Al-Fadi sighed, with a sad shake of his head. “He needs very little urging to behave abominably.”

  The small surgeon then crossed his arms and tapped his foot, as he looked at Dr. Grace and Dr. Cech expectantly.

  “What?” Dr. Cech asked.

  “Well? Are we going to go?” the Chief of Surgery asked.

  “Why are you asking us, you ‘spineless worm’? Aren’t you ‘independent’? Do we have to tell you what to do?” Dr. Cech threw back at Dr. Al-Fadi. “I am going now, as I have some free time, and I think it is a good idea to have a memprint of me on file, just in case anything ever happens to me. For instance, if a certain very small, very insecure, very psychotic surgeon were suddenly to try and do me harm for no apparent reason, Octavia and her team could bring me back, so I could exact my revenge on the little twit. They don’t, however, really need a memprint of you, Hiro. Who, in their right mind, would ever want to bring a horrible little egomaniac like you back?“

  “Ha. Impudence. Sacrilege. Don’t give me any ideas. I may just decide to do away with you, right now, so I am not haunted by you for the rest of eternity. Egads, it hurt just to say that. What a horribly painful thought. Hopefully, I will have my scan done before you, Dejan. Once the liquid crystal data matrix is filled with my impressive consciousness, it will have no room for your puny brain and will spit your memories out, for being too banal and boring.”

  “Sadly, your eternal jealousy is showing through again, Hiro. Admit it. I have the more impressive intellect, by far, and you just have to think up insults to cope with your totally understandable feelings of inadequacy,” Dr. Cech said, as he led the way to the neurosurgical unit.

  Dr. Al-Fadi squawked and went on a rant.

  ‘Did the two of them ever get tired of insulting each other?’ Grace wondered, in fascination. She knew they were enjoying themselves, taunting and abusing each other, which they seemed to do every chance they could get, but were they ever actually serious?

  Falling in behind the two senior doctors, Grace contemplated what they were all planning to do. Did she really want a memprint scan made of her brain? Did she want a permanent copy of her memories made, that would be in the hands of someone else? If she understood Dr. Weisman correctly, if Grace were to die, they could either implant her memories into an android body or clone her own body and re-implant her memprint memories into the new body, essentially giving her a second chance at life. Doing it every time she died, well, would that not be a form of immortality?

  Assuming it was really possible, was it right?

  If they had a memprint and the genetic blueprint of any person, could they resurrect that person over and over again so that that person could be seen to live forever? But what about food, energy, and resources? Was it fair to future generations of humans, if the old people never passed away? Would the present generation have to stop having children to avoid over-crowding? Would the human race become stagnant, because the older generations refused to pass on? Or would resurrection only be offered to the worthy or wealthy few for an exorbitant cost? Presuming it was a costly procedure, who would decide who was worth resurrecting and who was not? Perhaps it would be a service available only to the rich and powerful. How could that be right? The rich and powerful were usually the tyrants and despots.

  If despots and tyrants could keep bringing themselves back, over and over, would planets suffer under the endless tyranny of a dictator forever? How would a planet, and its people, ever break free from such a malevolent situation, once it was in place?

  What about soldiers? Would they be able to just keep bringing them back, over and over again, to send them out into the battlefield forever? Would these soldiers choose such a fate or would their lives be bought and owned by the military, who paid for their resurrection? Would these soldiers ever have a choice?

  Grace shuddered. She decided she needed to talk to Dr. Weisman about all the ethical ramifications surrounding this work. In the wrong hands, it could have far-reaching consequences, some of them not very good for the human race or the individual, as far as Grace was concerned.

  On the other hand, in the case of space exploration and colonization of new, frontier planets, where there were never enough volunteers and death rates were high, Dr. Weisman’s groundbreaking procedure could be extremely useful. Brilliant minds could be kept from dying. Colonists, who died in accidents or mishaps, could be resurrected to keep the population in a new colony from dropping.

  Grace imagined the Conglomerate would be extremely interested in the many aspects of Dr. Weisman’s work. Placing actual human military minds in impregnable android bodies would be just one idea they would surely jump at.

  Grace’s mind whirled with all of the possibilities for Dr. Weisman’s discoveries, good and bad. She wondered which would win out in the long run, good or evil? As with all new scientific discoveries, it would probably be a mixture of both. Is that not what was meant by the expression ‘mixed blessing’?

  From her medical point of view, being able to save every patient’s life whether it be in their original body, a new cloned body, or an android body, would be good, wouldn’t it? But should any human being be able to live forever?

  Grace frowned. There was a lot to contemplate.

  Before she knew it, they had arrived at the neurosurgical unit. Entering Dr. Weisman’s laboratory, which was filled with complicated-looking equipment and uniformed personnel, they found the Chief of Neurosurgery bustling about, directing technicians and examining readouts.

  “Dr. Al-Fadi, Dr. Cech, and Dr. Lord! I am so delighted that you all decided to come. Thank you all so much for your cooperation, I can’t believe you all volunteered at once, but we can certainly accommodate all three of you at the same
time. That is no problem at all. We have three set-ups free right this very moment awaiting you,” Dr. Weisman said.

  “What do you mean ‘we volunteered’? You sent for all three of us,” Dr. Al-Fadi remarked, with a frown.

  Dr. Weisman’s face looked puzzled for a brief second, but then it cleared and she shrugged.

  “Whatever. I am just so thankful and excited that you are all here,” she said. “Hiro, this is your chair, right here. I will hook you up and this machine here will record your memprint. You will be asleep for about one hour, while the process occurs, and then you will awaken, hopefully feeling refreshed and relaxed.”

  “I am sure my memprint will take much longer than Dr. Cech’s, so be sure to hook me up first, Octavia,” Hiro said.

  “He has always been slower than I, in all things, Octavia. I am so glad he is finally admitting it,” Dr. Cech explained to Dr. Weisman.

  “My recording will take longer than yours because I have more brains than you,” Dr. Al-Fadi protested, in a high-pitched squawk.

  “You are just slow, Hiro. Admit it,” Dr. Cech said with a big grin.

  “Why you insufferable, pompous, bas . . . ,” Dr. Al-Fadi exclaimed.

  “ . . . Sweet dreams, Hiro,” Dr. Cech interrupted, as he waved over his shoulder and walked away, following Octavia Weisman to another memprint recording station.

  Grace was directed to a third set-up. A large cushiony chair was placed before a huge bank of monitors and screens. Dr. Morris Ivanovich, Dr. Weisman’s neurosurgical research fellow, was busy fussing over the equipment.

  He was a tall, thin, young man with unruly, dark brown hair and dark eyes that never quite managed to make direct eye contact with Grace. He stood for a very long time, his back to her, fiddling with all the monitors, cables, amplifiers, controllers, and readouts, ignoring her completely. Grace began to get impatient and was almost tempted to walk out of the lab, when Morris turned towards her and motioned for her to sit back in the padded chair. A large, spherical globe was suspended above it, its inner surface coated with a thick layer of very fine, hairlike needles, making Grace think of an inside-out porcupine.