Barely Human

by Dhtreichler

  “Which means?”

  “Your biologic body was cremated and buried according to your instructions when you were admitted to transition.” Matter-of-fact. No emotion.

  “So, the old Sage is dead and buried.” Why wasn’t I expecting this? Did I know but hoped I still have an option?

  Dr. Woodall seems to have given this question some thought, “Sage Washington is very much alive and sitting across from me.”

  “My memories tell me I should feel a loss,” I inform him. “And I remember what it felt like to lose someone. But I don’t feel it now, I remember the feeling, but it’s distant. Not immediate. Not something I feel like a weight on my chest. That’s how I felt when Anna Laura and Tabitha died. And now the Sage who felt that loss is gone. Joined them in the ground, but not in the afterlife, if you believe in that.”

  “Do you believe in an afterlife?” Dr. Woodall seems genuinely interested in the answer to this question.

  “I used to,” I have to think about this for just a moment. “Particularly when Anna Laura and Tabitha passed on. That was the term Rocky used. Maybe that’s why I thought they had passed on to some other dimension or world, or just recycled as someone or something else on this world.”

  Dr. Woodall seems reflective, “Some think that when you die you become pure energy, able to move about the universe with no limits on where you go or what you can do.”

  “I’ve not heard that theory,” my response is automatic. “Transform into something else.” I muse on his concept.

  “You’ve transformed. That’s actually an excellent description. You are still you. When you transitioned you brought the framework of your being with you. That includes likes and dislikes, preferences and positions on life. You bring all your memories and they serve you in the absence of the feelings the rest of us react to. Some think that can give you an advantage in how you negotiate your life choices. I get the sense you don’t see it that way.”

  I shake my head as I think about transforming. I’d not thought of myself as anything other than a human with a new and better body. But am I? Rocky started my doubts and now Dr. Woodall is reinforcing them. “Where does the transformation stop?” suddenly occurs to me and I voice it.

  “It won’t.” Dr. Woodall leaves no doubt. “This process started with Mary Shelly and her novel of Frankenstein. But the concepts had been discussed for who knows how long. Where we are today is just a data point on a long continuum that will never end. And at each step along the way we learn something else about what it means to be human and what humans can transition to next. Think about the Neanderthals. When they met us, it must have been like what we are going through now. A new and improved human. The only difference was that transition was biologic. We’ve moved beyond the limits of biology with you. At some point we will move beyond the limits of a mechanical body. I don’t know when that will be, but I can conceive of it. And that means in your lifetime you will probably have an opportunity to make another transition to something even more capable.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before I transitioned?” I don’t know what to think of this situation.

  “Would it have made any difference?” Dr. Woodall asks simply.

  “I don’t know. I’d not considered further transitions.”

  “You will decide what those transitions will be. You and your teams at AppleCore.”

  I react with surprise, “Why do you say that?”

  Dr. Woodall’s voice hardens again. “A’zam is taking steps to ensure that is the outcome.”

  “You mean the exclusive transitions?” I’m not sure I understand what he’s saying.

  “That, and the pressure to ramp up so we do more for AppleCore than originally contemplated. Many more. But besides that, he’s asked us to develop new software for you.”

  I hear the reluctance on his part to do what I’m going to ask him, but I set that aside. “What software? Nothing has come through the management team.”

  “Software that will limit your choices.”

  I know nothing of this. “What do you mean?’

  “I didn’t want to build this for him, but he was very clear that if we didn’t he has other contractors who will be happy to provide it.”

  “Do you believe that?” I’m not sure I do. A’zam bluffs a lot.

  “There is nothing in the code that makes it impossible for others to do what we do.” Dr. Woodall shrugs.

  “How does this code limit me?” I want to make it personal to him.

  “It’s like a backdoor into your brain, to simplify. A’zam will be able to change settings to ensure certain thoughts are not acted on.”

  “So, he will have the ability to monitor our thoughts and override our decisions or impulses.”

  “In essence. It works through a power saving circuit he has in design.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Dr. Woodall and Rocky are making it possible for A’zam to control me and every immortal. A’zam wasn’t telling me everything. And now I’ve probably only discovered one of the many tweaks A’zam is planning. “Will this become a standard part of your code?”

  “Right now, it will become standard for all who transition under AppleCore, although A’zam has asked that it be standard for every immortal.”

  “Well, I’m telling you right now, don’t ever incorporate it in my code. That’s not a request.”

  Dr. Woodall grimaces. Caught between A’zam and what he knows to be right. “If I don’t deliver what he has contracted for, he will reject it and contact with someone else. I don’t know how I can stop what he intends to do.”

  “I need you to promise two things: One you will never upload that code in me.”

  He doesn’t verbally agree, “And the second?”

  “That you will transition your staff, so you can deliver eight immortals a day starting next week.”

  Dr. Woodall shakes his head as if wondering if Pandora has escaped her box.

  AMAZON

  I don’t make it back for the meeting with the media, but Mindi has contacted the major outlets who were there in the morning to inform them I will be back at 10 pm. I walk into the AppleCore conference room at exactly that time.

  About half of those who attended the morning meeting have reappeared. They had a story for the evening news. Those who didn’t show probably are waiting to see if something else newsworthy comes out from those who do come. I can expect demands for more discussions if I start a shit storm.

  “I appreciate your accommodating my changing schedule.” I announce as I breeze in and take a seat at the head of the conference table. I don’t recognize any of these individuals, so my mind starts a search and names and affiliations appear to me.

  The first journalist asks, “This morning you made it sound like you were predicting that between machines and immortals all our basic needs will be met. We won’t have to produce the things we need or want to live. How will the rest of us make a living?”

  Her name appears to me, “That’s an interesting question, Jane. It’s clear you’ve given my brief remarks a lot of thought.

  “You know who I am?” she seems surprised.

  “Jane Williams, American Civil Liberties Union. You’ve a distinguished career since you graduated from Georgetown Law School. I’m actually surprised you’d come out to chat with me when you have so many much more interesting cases you’re pursuing.”

  “You apparently don’t appreciate what you represent.” Jane’s tone is not hostile, but clearly not friendly.

  A quick scan of her prior writings, but nothing gives me a clue as to how she is treating my transition. “Could you share with the rest of this distinguished group what you think I represent?” I really don’t want to ask, but I have to get it out on the table and appear to be open to discussing what people see as issues.

  “You and those like you to come represent a new class of citizens. Like the old aristocracy. You’ll take all the wealth, invent all the new technologies, and enjoy
a privileged life those who do not transition cannot compete to achieve.”

  After listening politely, I hesitate, although I don’t need to, in order to make everyone believe I’ve considered her question. “First of all, I think it’s important to step back a moment. You seem to be making a huge leap of logic to get to a new class of citizens. How do you know that over time not all individuals who wish to transition, won’t? So, to say I represent a new aristocracy is a bit premature.”

  “But you raised the possibility a small group of you could produce everything we need to live.”

  “With the help of automation. It won’t be a building where ten of us get together and build everything everyone needs. What I’m trying to communicate is because some of us will be freed from a biological body that limits what we can do, we will be able to produce the basic things everyone needs much more efficiently with the help of robotic factories, farms and transportation. Robotics will change our lives even if people like me didn’t exist. But we will accelerate the ability of people to choose what they want to do because they won’t have to work or manage factories. I expect there to be a flourishing of the arts. People may travel more because they aren’t tied down to a nine to five job. I think, and I could certainly be wrong in this analysis, people will finally be able to do what most interests them, rather than something that pays the bills.”

  “Has anyone asked us if we want that?” Jane continues her thoughts.

  “Did anyone ask us if we wanted Facebook or Amazon or Google or AppleCore and all that they have brought about to change the very nature of our interactions with each other?”

  “You represent a more radical change than all of them put together.”

  I’m not hesitating now, but realize I need to slow down so I don’t sound flippant. “Change is a part of everyday life. You changed your clothes from yesterday. You’re eating something different today. Cut your hair differently, chose a different perfume. And even though I’m focusing on minor changes, the big ones generally take much longer and are incremental. What I think you’re reacting to is that while I’ve been here for a long time, in pieces and parts, the fact all those piece parts have come together all at once is a bit disconcerting for you.”

  “You’re talking about artificial hearts and arms and legs and hands,” she attempts to confirm.

  “Exactly,” I’m glad she has accepted my base argument establishing that I’m not so different.

  “But those who have all those parts don’t live forever,” she seeks to change the direction of the discussion back to immortality.

  “Let’s have a theological discussion then. What does it mean to die?”

  “That’s not the issue…” Jane begins to protest.

  “I disagree. It’s the core of the issue. If I have all mechanical parts but I still die would you care?”

  “I don’t know. If all your mechanical parts make you somehow able to do things the rest of us can’t and it separates you within society, I’ll probably care.”

  “Is that why you invented the one percent? To create an artificial distinction so you can somehow bring them back to the middle of society even though they demonstrate they are more capable than most by the economic success they enjoy.”

  “I didn’t invent the one percent,” Jane shoots back sounding as if she were sorry she didn’t.

  “Someone did.” I point out. “Those individuals have always been a part of our society by definition. And yet that label didn’t appear until it gave someone an opportunity to try to change society the way they wanted to change it.”

  “Does that mean you don’t wish to change society?”

  I look around the conference room. The others are politely listening to see where this exchange goes, but they are getting restless wanting to move on to something they want to report on. “I’m an executive at a company that makes products to enable different lifestyles. By doing that are we changing society? Absolutely. You change society by bringing law suits against those whom you judge to infringe on the rights of others. Everyone in this room changes society by enabling the dissemination of information. So we are all radicals from the perspective of change.”

  Jane gets the same sense I do about the impatience in the room. “One last question.” She sees the changed expressions as I do. “What will you do to ensure equal opportunity for all who wish to become immortal?”

  “I don’t expect to have any role in determining that. It seems most likely the medical community will be the gatekeepers. At least that’s how it seems to have been determined from past medical protocols. I didn’t choose me as the first. Didn’t even know it was an option when I went in to see my doctor.”

  I look around the room and see another woman in the back. “Keesha. You have a question?”

  “You’re not going to recite my resume for the group?” She laughs.

  “Only if you want me to.”

  Another journalist responds, “We all know Keesha. Don’t need an introduction.”

  “You’re a black woman. You rose to prominence in your profession and your industry.” Keesha begins. “Lots of young women look to you as a role model. What are you going to do to ensure that diversity will be an important part of the immortals you now represent?”

  “You’re way ahead of me on that one, Keesha.” I try to sound earnest. “I really haven’t given it any thought since I was just the patient and not the doctors who are making the decisions about who and when.”

  “But you have influence, whether it’s as the first or because you’re a big deal at AppleCore. The people who will be making those decisions will listen to you. More than they would listen to me or anyone else in this room.”

  “You know I would disagree with you there.” I respond as thoughtfully as I can sound. “You and everyone in this room will be much more influential in shaping any debate on any number of issues you may wish to take on. People read what you write. You communicate your ideas, your reactions to what you see, feel and experience. My company and I merely provide a communications medium and entertainment content. No one listens to me. No one cares what I have to say because I’m just someone in the background enabling the lifestyles of everyone else. In that regard, I’m no different than most of those who work with me at AppleCore and all the other companies in our industry.”

  “That all changed the day you became the first to transition to being something that had never existed before.” Keesha pushes back. “We’re not here because you’re just another drone at AppleCore. We’re here because you have become, whether through fate or of your own doing, something new. Something we’ve not seen before. And even you recognize that you represent change. Everyone is interested in change and its implications for them.”

  “Fear of the unknown.” I summarize.

  “Not fear, exactly.” Keesha tries to frame the debate. “More a desire to know what, if anything, each of us needs to do because of the change you represent.”

  I hesitate to answer again, hoping to make it seem like I’m considering her observations. “From my vantage point I’d say the average person can just ignore my presence in the world. I might enable AppleCore to bring advanced solutions to the market faster than before, but not much else. But for those with terminal illnesses like I had, they are the ones who should be sitting up and saying to their doctors, tell me about what she went through. Is that an option for me?”

  “I think you’re going to play a bigger role in all this than you may think. And you just need to remember where you came from and make sure we all have the same access you had.” Keesha is trying to remind me of my roots.

  Access. The one thing AppleCore is limiting. And that’s what she wants me to ensure for people who otherwise may not have the opportunity. But that’s not my job or responsibility. At least not as I see it. “I understand what you’re saying.” I want her to know I heard her. In the front next, “Jerome. Dare I ask what the New York Times wants to know about immortals?”

&nb
sp; “Thanks for the plug with my peers here.” Jerome glances around the room. “I have information that AppleCore has an exclusive contract with Dr. Woodall’s group. Is that true?”

  Not a question I want to answer, but it was going to come sooner or later. “AppleCore is investigating how it can operate in a potential new market. If you stop to think about it, most of the products we produce are things you wear or carry. They give you information and help you communicate with others. We like to say they enable your lifestyle. When I transitioned and AppleCore realized that I have access to those same information sources and means of communication through a built-in capability we realized AppleCore will have to completely rearchitect what we make as the number of immortal customers grow.”

  Jerome doesn’t like my answer and it shows in both his expression and his tone. “What is the nature of your contract with Dr. Woodall’s group?”

  “I’m trying to provide as much background and information to you as I can. Happy to talk about me and my experience in transitioning. But I can’t discuss privileged information about my company which is only tangential to my transition.”

  Now that really pisses Jerome off. “I have it on good authority that you have an exclusive contract for transitioning immortals, not just researching how AppleCore products will need to change.”

  “Contract information is privileged. Sorry.”

  “And there are indications you are only transitioning AppleCore employees. Is that true?”

  The rest of the journalists are furiously making notes and checking their devices for anything that would support Jerome’s assertion.

  “Any information about AppleCore employees has to remain confidential. I really don’t have a choice about that.”

  “You know what generally happens when someone stonewalls the press.” Jerome is threatening me, but I have reasonable grounds to support my positions and responses.

  “Jerome, I hold your publication in the highest regard. You have done more to inform people than most any other source. But I also know that when media folks can’t arrive at the facts, speculation seems to enter into the discussion. And once you report it, your story becomes the facts of the matter whether facts or pure speculation. People believe and trust what you write. So, I would respectfully ask that you bear that in mind when you write this story without the facts you need to establish whether there is anything at all to your lead.”