Upload

by Chris Gladstone

  "I'm beginning to think Virtual may be the only way we can find out what's on these things." Jack swivelled his chair, revealing a pale, tired face. "I feel like a novice as far as these things go, Luke. A complete bloody novice." He stood, stretched and rubbed his neck. "Take a look."

  I sat and became instantly mesmerised by the schematic of one of the chips. "Are they both the same?" I asked after several minutes of examining the chip from all angles.

  "Basically, they are, but one is slightly more complex than the other."

  "Okay, hook up the more complex one, and I'll go in and see what I can find." I went to engage the headband button, but Jack stayed my hand.

  "It could be extremely risky, Luke. Especially, since we don't know what we're dealing with. How do we know it's not some bloody booby-trap rigged up by Williamson to do a mind wipe or something similar?"

  "I'm still prepared to take the risk." I stared up at him, and he released my hand.

  "All right." He turned and sat down at another console a little further down the bench while my headband engaged. Presently, Jack's voice came through, "I'm ready, but Luke, be careful. Be prepared for anything, and good luck."

  "I'll be careful, Jack, and thanks."

  Chapter 46

  I went through the linking procedure, including the necessary password to allow me to engage. As I spiralled down––I wondered––will this be the last time I ever do this? Is this a trap set up by Williamson? I pushed the thought away and concentrated. It was too late to panic now. I slowed my breathing and focused on calmness.

  I carefully formed the thought.

  ––Prepare for chip interrogation.

  ––Preparing for chip interrogation––please wait.

  I waited. The message repeatedly blinked on the screen. Time dragged. After what seemed like hours, the message changed.

  ––Ready for interrogation––Please give instructions.

  ––Immerse.

  ––Warning––chip does not conform to standard.

  ––This procedure may be dangerous and is not recommended for nonstandard chips.

  "Luke, what the hell are you doing?"

  ––Immerse.

  "No, Luke," Jack screamed in my ear––too late.

  A plummeting sensation overwhelmed me. I plunged into a black abyss. Panic set in as the darkness became solid, suffocating and almost overpowering. In the next instant a room materialised around me. Drab curtains covered the windows, and a single naked light bulb swung backwards and forwards from the ceiling. A small boy cowered in one corner while a blonde woman wearing a gaudy floral dress screamed at him.

  I had the sense of being physically present, but I knew it was an illusion. I had to be a mere observer, but it was so real. I looked on, mesmerised by the scene. The woman had something in her hand. I tried to move closer, to one side, so I could see what she held. Abruptly, I found myself standing next to her. She was holding a yellow flyswatter which she was using to beat the little boy around the head and neck. I could hear the whack––whack––whack. The boy, aged about three or four, whimpered like a small animal. Anger and pity welled up inside me. I lunged at her arm, but my phantom hand sliced through thin air. I existed only as a powerless ghost.

  I focused back on the boy. He cradled something in front of him, trying to protect it. When I strained to see what it was, I was instantly transported to his side. He had his arms firmly wrapped around a small black-and-white kitten. I could just hear its plaintive meowing above all the din.

  Move back, I thought—and I did, returning to my original position. Great Universe, what is this? Where is this? Is this someone's memory or a dream? In a flash, I hurtled back into darkness. I began to feel a pulling, stretching sensation, like someone or something trying to tear me apart. It continued on and on, and its intensity increased exponentially. Just when the pain became unbearable and I began to scream, I snapped back into the boy's room.

  The scene had changed. The boy was sitting on his bed, moving the limp form of the kitten from one hand to the other. I could see by the angle of its head, by the way it flopped backwards and forwards, that its neck was broken. I wondered what had happened. Instantly, I found myself standing right in front of the boy.

  Unexpectedly, he raised his eyes and met mine. My pulse rocketed. Standing before me was Logan Williamson as a child. Paralysed with horror, I just stood—lost in those unmistakable, dark, penetrating eyes. I was inside Logan Williamson's brain. I shrank back, simultaneously assaulted by shock and fear. In a microsecond I was transported to the far corner of the room, before being hurled back into darkness.

  I swallowed my panic and tried to think. Perhaps I was creating all this. I experimented. I visualised Williamson as he was currently. Immediately, the ghastly stretching sensation wrenched and tore at all my nerves. It built in intensity, until finally I cried out in pain. The sensation vanished when I materialised in a vaguely familiar room. A youthful Williamson was seated at his desk. He fixed me with a blank stare. When recognition dawned, he began to laugh. It became a maniacal roar. Had I gone insane?

  "Well, well, this is a surprise. Frankly, I'm amazed you've got this far." He steepled his hands and gazed up at me. "I'm not sure I like you digging around my brain; slipping in and out of my memories. What did you think of my mother?"

  "Was it her that broke the kitten's neck?" I had to know.

  "What do you think?" His smile transformed into a sneer.

  "I don't know." At the back of my mind, an insistent little voice was saying, 'you shouldn't be doing this, Luke––it's not safe.'

  "My mother enjoyed killing things; she broke its neck. She couldn't understand why I wanted to keep the soft, warm, living creature. She never allowed pets; she considered them dirty vermin, much like children really. She rarely touched me and only when she had to. She never touched my father either; I suspect that's why he left. He got tired of begging to be admitted to her bedroom, tired of her constant nagging. He simply packed up and left one night while she was out. She was out, frequently.

  When I clung to his coat and pleaded with him to take me with him, he prised my hands away and smacked me full in the face. He told me I was just useless baggage, that he'd never wanted me in the first place, and that I, like her, was unlovable. I was six at the time. Something changed in me that night, like the last piece of a jigsaw clicking into place. I became transformed. I learned to enjoy watching my mother. Gradually, I began to appreciate the sense of power it bought when she let me kill things for her."

  I stared at him, sickened and horrified. He started to laugh again, and as it rose to a crescendo a wave of nausea swept over me. The sound vibrated through me with jackhammer intensity and induced the sensation of being shaken apart. I had to get out. I had to get away from Williamson before he killed me.

  "Break link," I said. Nothing happened. Abruptly, the laughter ceased. Williamson sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.

  "Break link now," I shouted, desperately.

  "Get out of my mind," Williamson screamed. "Get out! Get out!

  "Jack. Jack help me. Please, help me." Smothering darkness closed over me.

  #

  Someone was patting my face, but I couldn't open my eyes. Was I just waking up from hiber-sleep? Was that why my eyes wouldn't open?

  I heard a voice. Not the soothing voice I remembered from the hiber-pod, it was male. My eyes snapped open, and I stared into Nguma's anxious face.

  He placed his hand on my cheek. "At last, Luke, you have come back to us. Let me help you from the chair." He placed both hands under my arms and pulled me up.

  Jack rushed forward to help him, "Don't you ever try anything like that again. I thought I'd lost you, you stupid, bloody bastard." He hovered over me, his face grey and drawn.

  Even though I had a raging headache and was a little wobbly, I shrugged both of them off. "I'm alright, and I know what's on the chip."

  "What?" Jack and Ng
uma asked, simultaneously.

  I had to lean on the bench for support before I could answer. Jack stood expectantly, but my hesitancy proved too much for Nguma.

  "Please do tell us, Luke."

  "It's Williamson's consciousness; all of it."

  "Are you certain," Jack frowned, and rubbed his forehead.

  "I'm certain."

  "Until I laid eyes on these chips, I would have said it was impossible. Bloody hell, Luke. He's really done it."

  "Yes. Now, hook up the other one. I'm praying it's Kiera." I sat back in the chair. Just as I reached for the headband button, Nguma grabbed my wrist and wouldn't let go.

  "I forbid it. You are dehydrated, and you need rest, my friend." His face was full of concern.

  I gazed up into those soft, brown eyes. "How did I get dehydrated? I wasn't in there for long."

  "You were in there for nine hours––nine, bloody hours, Luke." Jack's voice was filled with quiet anger. "Even though Nguma put you on an IV, it was taking such a toll on you we were forced to break the link. That was the easy part; we spent a further three hours trying everything we could think of to wake you up. You will only go in there again over my dead body." Jack glared, exhaustion clearly etched into his face.

  "Somebody's got to do it," I said, defiantly, massaging my throbbing forehead.

  "You heard me," Jack said. "Let's get back down to our deck. I'm exhausted and starving. I won't take no for an answer. Get moving."

  Without another word, Jack took hold of one arm and Nguma the other. They escorted me over to our suits and helped me into mine. After putting on theirs, they propelled me into the airlock. We were soon back on deck twenty-six. Julian and Tiani confronted us the moment we emerged. They both rushed forward, and their anxious, expectant faces said it all. Tiani flung her arms around me, while Julian stood next to us.

  "We were so worried, Dad. What on earth possessed you to immerse?" Julian asked.

  "I don't know." This was the truth. I really didn't know. In hindsight, I realised how impulsive and reckless I'd been. My rash action could have cost me my sanity.

  Tiani released me and stepped back.

  Julian wrapped his arms around me and gave me a hug. "Promise you won't do it again, Dad."

  I hesitated. "Even if it's your mother?"

  "Even if it's Mum." Julian's expression conveyed sad determination.

  "Ti?"

  "I agree with Julian." She began twisting her hair around her finger.

  "Perhaps you'll take notice of your kids, Luke." Jack stalked off, prompting us to follow. No one spoke; we were all lost in our own thoughts. Finding Kiera seemed further away than ever.

  Chapter 47

  After food, sleep, and a great deal of talking, I tried to persuade Jack to let me interrogate the other chip providing I didn't use the immersion technique. Jack's solution was simple; we would connect the second chip to the computer first, because it was a necessary step in the procedure anyway. Following that, I would link and check it was Kiera. If it was, we could go ahead with our plan to upload her into an android.

  I still couldn't fathom why I'd taken such a huge risk by diving into Williamson's chip. It was probably something Kiera would have done; perhaps I could blame her female influence again. The idea of residual memory; fragments left behind when a consciousness was uploaded, was becoming more and more of a certainty in my mind.

  Immersing myself in Williamson's chip had not been without consequences. My sleep had been fitful, filled with fragments of Williamson's memories. Memories from many lifetimes all spliced together in a jumble, akin to an abstract painting. In some, I was merely an observer, but in others I actually experienced the memory as if it was my own. It gave me a direct insight into Williamson's thinking and his emotions, or more to the point, lack of emotions. Unable to feel any sort of compassion, he was driven by the need to control others. Because of his intellect, he'd learned at an early age to hide his true self. He'd used charm, backed up by clever manipulation, to persuade people to do his bidding. When that failed, he used his skills to press other people's buttons. He manipulated their vulnerabilities and blackmailed them with skeletons from the past to force them into doing what he wanted.

  He was obviously a psychopath, exhibiting all the particular character traits––superficial charm, impulsivity, lack of remorse or shame and the inability to feel empathy. I needed to speak to the man before I went up to examine the other chip.

  "Nguma."

  He looked up from Jack's tablet. "Yes, my friend."

  It was going to be a big ask. I steeled myself. "Is there any way you can bring Williamson's persona out? There are really important gaps Gregory can't fill us in on." I held my breath.

  "Let me think for a moment," his face took on a vague faraway look as he gazed into the distance. "I may be able to bring him forth by using hypnosis. But Gregory would have to agree to undergo the process." His face became serious.

  "Could you go and ask him, please?"

  He stood up. "I will try and persuade him." He paused before going out the door. "It could prove beneficial for him, but I cannot force him."

  "No, of course not." I hoped like hell Gregory would agree.

  Sometime later, Nguma came back. "Good news, Luke. Gregory has agreed. I've already put him under my spell and have coaxed Logan out."

  "There's just one thing I need to ask you, Nguma, and please don't take this the wrong way." I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

  "Yes, Luke. Please, ask away."

  "Are you one hundred percent certain Gregory is genuine, and it's not Williamson playing us all for fools?" I held his gaze. His mouth quirked with a slight smile, and his eyes crinkled.

  "I have had three lifetimes of dealing with people such as these. I am confident in my own judgement. No one can pull the fleece over my eyes––no one, Luke."

  I laughed.

  He tilted his head to one side. "Is there anything else?"

  "No, Nguma, thank you."

  "Let us proceed, my friend." He beckoned with his hand.

  I got up and followed him into the bathroom.

  When we entered, Logan regarded us with a sullen, defiant silence. We sat down on either side of him. He still didn't speak.

  "We had to terminate the lives of eighteen people. My wife, Kiera, was among them. You caused their deaths by sabotaging the unit so it would ultimately fail. Tell me how that is not murder?"

  "I did not sabotage the unit." His eyes narrowed.

  "I don't believe you. I would like you to explain how Kiera and my two children came to be in module three, when they were supposed to be in module one along with Jack and me." I glared at him and my heart thumped in my ears.

  He pulled himself erect and glared back. "If you will remember, Luke, there was a calculated module failure rate for the duration of the voyage. Everyone knew there was a risk, be it a small one, that they wouldn't make it alive to the end of the voyage." He paused; his expression smug and confident. It angered me that I was giving him this power.

  "So, you are saying it was a coincidence?" Nguma asked.

  "Yes, no one was meant to die." He turned to face me. "I will admit to transferring Kiera into your body and you into Kiera's body, Luke, but it's quite reversible. It's a simple matter of transferring your consciousnesses to your correct clones once they're ready after we arrive. Of course, it does mean you will lose your spare bonus clone." He gave me a nasty smile.

  Nguma leant across and tapped Logan's shoulder. "Tell us why you did this, Logan, so we can make sense of it."

  He smiled, and I found my fists tightening as he continued. "It was merely a—" Logan paused, "an indulgence, a small amusement, and revenge for the problems you caused me all those lifetimes ago. I transferred them into a different module so you would see my message. You wouldn't have seen it if Kiera and your children had been with you where they were supposed to be."

  In a flash, a clear, compelling memory launched itself into my c
onsciousness. Logan Williamson had, in his own sick way, loved Kiera. Its overwhelming intensity swept over me, along with his aching need to be loved and cared about. His compulsive resoluteness had drowned out his intellectual reasoning. I shook my head and pulled myself back to the present. I found myself flooded with pity for this sad, lonely individual sitting in front of me, justifying actions he was incapable of feeling any guilt about.

  I sighed. "If we are to believe you, and I'm not saying we do, tell us what's on the other chip. Is it Kiera consciousness? "

  "Only if you guarantee I will not be charged for any of my actions."

  He appeared so confident. He was filled with the conviction he had done nothing wrong other than to play a nasty trick, a trick that could be reversed.

  "So," Logan said, looking at each of us in turn, "do we have an agreement?"

  "But what about the fact you've condemned my children to a future life as non-biological entities, a future devoid of children?"

  "Aah, I was right about your strong desire for grandchildren." He smirked.

  My pity vanished, suddenly replaced by murderous thoughts, thoughts of putting my hands round his throat and squeezing.

  "Answer me!" I shouted.

  Nguma stood up and came over to my side. He reached over and gently squeezed my shoulder before sitting next to me.

  "I've kept the best until last."

  Logan's face was filled with lively animation, and I was wondering what was coming next.

  "Do enlighten us, Logan," Nguma said, feeding Logan's ego, "we are all ears."

  Logan, pleased in the realisation that he now held all the cards, was beginning to enjoy himself. Much to my disgust, he appeared to be revelling in the sense of power. Power I was giving him.

  I gritted my teeth and gripped the bench. It took all my self-control not to hit him.