Neurotopia

by Tony Mohorovich

  ‘I completely understand Madam Hoy-Atcliffe, of course,’ he said. The money flowed into his pocket. ‘Follow me, please.’

  He led Sky at an energized pace to a corridor which ended at metal doors. There he paused. Sky took that as a cue to hand over a more personal donation (as her brief had predicted), which she did. The amount brought a rare smile to the sales rep’s features. ‘You won’t be disappointed,’ he said.

  The doors opened to a vault.

  Inside, the walls were lined with humans in stasis. These cubicles were more spacious than their counterparts outside. Sky’s swarm indicated there were fewer cameras here.

  There was a scent of lilac. Bottles of wine and other beverages greeted Sky at the entrance. The sales rep made a move to offer a glass, but Sky passed by him, searching for the cubicles on her list.

  The timer was down to 5:26 minutes.

  ‘More to your liking?’ the sales rep asked, trailing behind her.

  Sky followed the maya path created by her client’s brief, down the corridor, right at aisle six, until she arrived at the location; all four bodies, lined up vertically beside each other like toy soldiers.

  ‘Yes,’ the salesman panted, ‘many of our clients prefer the upright designs; especially those familiar with stasis and ready hit the ground running; a good choice.’

  Sky had 3:14 minutes left before…

  Some upright cubicles in the corner lay empty. ‘I’ll take one,’ Sky said.

  The sales rep lit up, taking a breath, ‘Wonderful. I’ll arrange the contract immediately.’

  ‘I’d like to select one myself, privately if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ he bowed and walked away. Sky waited until the echoes of his footsteps faded.

  2:00 minutes.

  Sky stared at the four sleeping bodies.

  One was a handsome man in his twenties. The second, a woman of Sky’s age, with a similar genetic makeup. The third, a middle-aged Caucasian. The fourth could have been an ancient Tibetan nun if she had been wearing the appropriate robes instead of the white uniform of the undying.

  These people—according to their readouts—had been entombed for a mix of hacks and incurable diseases. In reality, they were all healthy. It had been a challenge for Sky to imagine killing them beforehand, but now after seeing them in the flesh, helpless, in this cold, sterile place…

  Her timer blinked 00:00. She heard that voice again, the deep male voice that had issued her employer’s instructions, ‘Standby for confirmation,’ it said.

  The bodies were backup vehicles for the cartel boss, Som Razer, in the event that his primary body failed or was destroyed, and his secondary backups met the same fate. Each body held a copy of his mind—just a copy, but an accurate one—downloaded from Razer’s original brain second-by-second, ready to wake and carry on his business in the event of an occupational hazard. Earth had banned the technology; those who could afford it had a habit of passing on their inheritance and businesses to their copies and thus monopolizing resources.

  But the dormant bodies that Sky now observed were not vat-grown physical copies, they were real people; those who had crossed the Som cartel, or debtors who had for whatever reason been unable to repay and had chosen to serve as backups in preference to a fatal beating or worse. Once they repaid their debt by completing the agreed backup period, their memories would be restored and they would be freed. If they died while Razer’s mind-copy was operating their bodies, their debts would be cancelled. This was assuming, of course, that Som Razer honored his contracts.

  I’m doing this for Ma, she told herself. The job, the money, the lead to the telepaths, the cure, she told herself. If I don’t complete the job, someone else will; these folks are dead no matter what, she told herself. If I break the contract now, I’m as good as dead and so is Ma…

  The deep voice spoke again, ‘The primary body and secondary backups of Som Razer have been destroyed. Please deal with the tertiary bodies as per our agreement.’

  Sky heard her blood pounding, everywhere.

  She turned to the first backup body, the twenty-something man, in his prime. She hacked the cubicle with the code provided by her brief. The door opened. Cold air pricked her skin.

  Do it, she told herself, do it before —

  His eyes shot open. He took a sudden breath, gasped, then looked around, unsure, lost, until his gaze finally settled on Sky. His eyes bulged. ‘No. I’ll pay you double— ’ his voice was little more than a whisper, hoarse from the stasis, and further restricted by the swarm embedded in his chest where his heart used to be.

  Sky could hardly believe she had done it.

  He almost fell on top of her. The impact of his fall echoed in the vault.

  Alarms blared. Guns appeared out of the walls and whirred in Sky’s direction… but they did not fire. She could thank her employer for that.

  Sky could see her breath, like little clouds in the air of the empty cubicle. The blood of her first victim had tainted the pristine environment.

  The next cubicle burst open and the middle-aged woman leapt out, hit the ground, slipped, and got up with the dexterity of a newborn fawn, her limbs struggling to respond. She righted herself by leaning on another cubicle, ‘If double isn’t enough, I’ll pay triple,’ she begged—Som Razer begged—‘How much do you want?’

  Sky said nothing. The alarms wailed.

  The woman tried to flee, glancing back once with an unforgettable horror, falling and staggering and crawling, screaming for help.

  The remaining two backup bodies were, in contrast, serene in their ignorance.

  ​7:5

  Neuroprogramming Officer Okiro Mohammed-Levi watched as the neurotech, Dr. Kritikos, trawled through Sky’s data. Dr. Kritikos, like others in his line of work, was stringy, beady-eyed and focused, with little sign of emotion—probably the result of years of programming, self-diagnosed and self-prescribed, like many self-development enthusiasts. Transcendence through technology, they called it.

  The lab was a crisp white but not much roomier than Okiro’s own cubicle. The only decoration was a maya still-photo on the wall with a younger Dr. Kritikos standing in front of a white wall, alone, wearing the same white lab coat.

  ‘I see what you mean,’ the neurotech said at last. ‘It’s an unusual neural spike.’ Okiro detected a hint of irritation in his tone. ‘We should have picked this up earlier. You did well to identify it.’ That would have been a compliment if he hadn’t sounded so surprised.

  ‘Could it be the result of my programming Ms. Marion the day before?’ Okiro asked.

  ‘No. That spike is accounted for.’

  Dr. Kritikos brought up a timeline of Sky’s data which revealed the spike in all its glory; a red skyscraper in the middle of a desert.

  ‘It’s an artificial input, as you suspected,’ Kritikos explained. ‘But not the sort you would find after ordinary programming; it is too dense.’

  ‘Could the brainbender have done this?’

  ‘Not conclusive, but the evidence is not in his favor.’

  ‘So… the brainbender is responsible?’ Okiro said, hoping for a clearer answer.

  The neurotech sighed, ‘It would not be an unreasonable hypothesis.’

  Neurotechs, Okiro thought, best to move on. ‘Can you tell what they programmed into her?’

  The doctor zoomed in on the spike until all you could see was computer code. ‘It is encrypted, which is also illegal, but it does have a pattern. It appears to be a series of instructions.’

  ‘Instructions? You mean like a how-to manual?’

  ‘Not quite, although there are elements of that—’

  ‘Commands?’

  ‘That’s an appropriate synonym. It is not as uncommon as you might think. After all, most neuroviruses are essentially commands for your brain to execute.’

  ‘So she’s infected with a neurovirus?’

  ‘It is not out of the question.’

  Okiro took a dee
p breath to maintain his patience. ‘What are the commands instructing her to do?’

  ‘I am unable to tell. It is beyond my abilities, at least without the supporting technology.’

  ‘Do we have anyone who can crack this code?’

  ‘If you want to pursue this further, you would have to escalate the matter to the NIA.’

  Okiro flinched. ‘I’d have to get approval for that. My client is a model citizen with no recent infractions, so I doubt the captain would see this as a priority. To be honest, I’m not sure she would have approved of this consultation, if I had asked.’

  The neurotech displayed the first sign of emotion; he frowned. ‘You do realize that any omission in your duties will show up on your scanner report?’

  ‘I figured that’s about twenty days away. In the meantime, we could circumvent my captain’s approval if you personally escalate this to the NIA.’

  The frown deepened. It looked artificial on him. ‘I am looking forward to your next appointment; I am not sure your post-trauma programming has had the desired effect. From what I recall of your scanner reports, they are as flawless as they come for someone with your neurals, and management is currently determining promotions and bonuses.’

  Dr. Kritikos had a point. All the same, Okiro had to admit he enjoyed his newfound unorthodox approach to investigation—one where he actually got to do some investigating. ‘I’ll worry about my scanner report.’

  ‘If your scanner results degrade, it reflects on my abilities as a neurophysician.’

  Okiro sighed. ‘I’m just doing what’s in the best interests of my client. That’s my job. Can you help me out here?’

  The neurotech shook his head. ‘Unlike you, Officer, I have a healthy respect for the role of employee scanning systems and their relationship with performance.’ He tinkered with a maya, ‘I have just booked you in for a programming reassessment this week.’

  Okiro stifled a laugh. These people were beyond help. He pointed at Sky’s neural spike, ‘What about this? Surely you agree this is sufficient for escalation?’

  The doctor craned his head up at the ceiling, in thought. ‘It could just be a harmless virus. In any case, the captain is responsible for assigning precinct resources and I would need her approval before I can answer that question definitively.’

  ​7:6

  ATTENTION

  Memories of SKY MARION between

  Half-past March 1:4:5:3 and Half-past March 1:4:8:1 are unavailable.

  Memories may be corrupt or deleted.

  ​7:7

  Sky heard shouts and screams and the sound of bodies rupturing.

  She woke on the floor of Mym Mento’s Memorium, surrounded by the framed memories of the dead. Happier times.

  Her head throbbed as if she had just had a programming session.

  Footsteps trailed off. A man in a shiny yellow suit was on his way out with a bulky case in one hand. The security wall opened just enough for him to bob underneath and exit the store. Once he was out, the security wall slammed shut.

  Sky’s body ached, the sort of ache that bypassed the muscles and went straight to the marrow. She lifted her arm. Her hand shook.

  She heard a tap-tap-tapping. Android legs came into view. A couple of them offered to help her up, which she accepted. Other legs placed a seat underneath her.

  Sky spotted her swarm luggage nearby and thought it looked different; it appeared smaller and discolored in places.

  She could taste blood.

  ‘How did I get here?’ she groaned.

  The android lowered itself so that its human half was at Sky’s level. ‘What does it matter? You earned your keep, girlie, and a bonus besides.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Uncle Jesse said, < Ma’am, we’ve lost a couple of Earth hours according to my clock. >

  Sky turned to the android, ‘You’ve got some explaining to do.’

  The android retreated. A maya appeared between them; security footage of Mento’s store. It showed Sky marching in, unsteady, knocking over memory frames, calling for Mym Mento. The footage sped up until Sky faced the camera. Behind her stood Mento’s android and the man in the yellow suit, his cubed case was open, revealing a machine with chemicals bubbling in a network of tubes. Sky was sweating, her eyes darting, ‘I consent to a memory wipe.’ The man responded with something inaudible. Sky looked at the camera again, ‘A chemical memory wipe. I understand the risks.’ She turned away. ‘Now just fucking do it. I’m no good to anyone like this.’

  The footage froze.

  Sky reached for her temples and found what she was looking for; pinprick incisions. ‘Why would I consent to a memory wipe?’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea,’ the android responded, defensive. ‘You came in here demanding a wipe and you wouldn’t say why. The wireless wipe didn’t work because your neurals are stacked—I’d have an easier time cleaning dust off the domes—so you demanded a chemical wipe; it’s a little less accurate and can result in collateral neural damage, but you seem okay.’

  Sky paused, trying to process it all. ‘What happened?’

  Mento’s chuckle came through the android. ‘That kinda defeats the purpose of a memory wipe, don’t it? I said you’d regret it, girlie, and you didn’t listen. Anyway, all you need to know is you were successful in completing your contract.’

  Sky sifted through the debris of her memory. She saw the Catacombs, the stasis cubicles, the vault… she saw the first backup body speak… and her swarm penetrate his chest…

  She had killed a human being.

  There had been other bodies there. Had she killed them too?

  What had she become? What had led her here? Desperation? Trauma? Was it Apollo seeping into her veins? Or was this the real Sky, and all she had needed was a little push?

  She searched for more memories, fearing what she might see, but found nothing. It was like walking across a rope bridge that suddenly ran out of rope and hung in mid-air, confounding physics. Though she could not grasp the memories, there was still something there… like an impression, or an aftertaste, in the form of a feeling…

  It was dread.

  And the longer she stared into that memory-less void, the greater the dread.

  Her initial frustration turned to relief—if the mere scent of the memories made her shudder, she did not want to remember. She did not want to look into the face of the true Sky Marion.

  ‘I can’t recall much,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t want to hear it,’ the android snapped. ‘Whatever the wiper got out is gone for good, and whatever’s left is for you to deal with. But for now, come, allow me the honor of fulfilling my side of the bargain: I have news of Geppetto.’

  ​7:8

  Sky entered Mym Mento’s lab and took the first seat available, which happened to face a new corpse on the memory extraction table. It was a woman this time.

  The rumormonger sat inside the tinted chamber. ‘Just gimme a decamilli while I transfer your data,’ she said.

  This had better be worth it, Sky thought, head in hands. After all I’ve been through in this shit-hole.

  As Mento worked in silence, Sky’s anticipation grew and the silence became uncomfortable. ‘Do you always work alone?’ Sky asked.

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Why the android sales assistant?’

  ‘So I don’t need to look at my clients’ ugly faces with my own eyes. Why the questions?’

  ‘Why the attitude?’

  Mento grunted in reply.

  Restless, Sky got up and drifted around the lab, browsing its technological bric-a-brac. ‘I like your set-up.’

  ‘Really?’ The tone was lighter, perhaps genuine. ‘Do you have an interest in mem-extraction?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Hobby?’

  Could it hurt to tell the truth? Sky wondered. ‘I’ve worked in scanning.’

  Mento’s seat rasped and her figure strode toward Sky. A door opened in the tinted room.

 
; Mym Mento was shorter but just as round as her silhouette. Her waddle was the result of two artificial legs. Her eyes were so wide she looked like a startled owl. ‘You’re a scanner? On Earth you mean?’

  Sky nodded, regretting she had said anything.

  Mento shuffled over. ‘That explains the sexy neurals.’ Her lips moved to the rhythm of a different language while Sky’s translator program did its thing.

  ‘I’m not a manual scanner,’ Sky replied. ‘It’s automatic these days. I just review cases that scanners have selected for programming.’

  ‘Is it true you can scan whoever you want?’ Mento asked, her face shining in the soft light.

  ‘We have limits. We can’t scan people we know or work with.’ Sky recalled the many times she had fought the urge to peek into Okiro’s mind.

  ‘Extraordinary. And without consent?’ Up close, Mym’s hair was an unwashed gray, hanging from her scalp like a waterfall.

  ‘Well… yes.’ Sky realized this was the first time she had ever had to justify the practice. ‘The more we experience others’ minds, the better our instincts, the better our work. And every so often we find little things the scanners don’t pick up.’

  ‘I thought Earth scanners missed nothing.’

  ‘They’re perfect at picking up thoughts once they exist. But there are things people hold back, even from themselves, in that place before thoughts. You can sometimes feel a thought bubbling beneath the surface.’

  Mym frowned in a way that reminded Sky of her mother. ‘It’s a lonely life, isn’t it?’

  Sky was lost for words. Mym’s comment penetrated deeper than she had expected. After a pause Sky said, ‘Not many people want scanners as friends.’

  ‘How delightful,’ Mym smiled, ‘We are kindred spirits then.’

  Sky looked at the corpse on the table. ‘I tend to deal with live subjects.’

  Mym cackled, ‘Of course, of course.’ She waddled back into the tinted chamber, leaving the door open this time. ‘You deal with the living, I deal with the dead. But we’re both time travelers, you and I, watching their memories, living their intimate moments over and over again, seeing through another’s eyes, laughing and crying and loving, living a thousand lifetimes.’