“I demand my body back!” Haldane said.
Paulson plucked at his sleeve. “I don’t believe this is your original body any more than that one is. Meanwhile, you can spend time in the recreation hall with the other cannon fodder volunteers. You should have plenty of time to write a personal letter of sympathy to the families of each of those seamen who died during the attack on the Prospector … and on the Far Horizon … for starters.”
“But you’re just a … a nobody!” cried Haldane.
The sub’s captain said, “We believe Admiral Kenz has valuable insights and irreplaceable knowledge and experience. The EPN could not afford to lose him, so he must be preserved at all costs.”
“Yes,” the XO added, “it would be a grave threat to the human race if Admiral Kenz were to be lost in combat. I’m sure the escape hatch conduits can be adjusted. You can wait with the other volunteers.” He narrowed his eyes and gave Haldane a withering look. “Don’t worry, you’ll be called to do your duty, if needed.”
I was particularly touched by the news of a mountaineer who had died on Everest, slowly freezing to death in his tent and knowing he wouldn’t make it through the night. He talked with his wife on the sat phone as he died, having the technology to say goodbye.
My friend Dr. Harry Kloor has been involved with the XPRIZE since its inception, and he was particularly enthusiastic about the new “Avatar” XPRIZE. Avatar technology is exciting and filled with possibilities, in which a human can link with a separate robotic body via telepresence and use that separate body for myriad purposes, whether a remote surgeon using a medical avatar to perform an operation on the other side of the world, or a tourist visiting hazardous and exotic places in a robot body, or an invalid doing daily activities but in a surrogate robot body. Harry was so enthusiastic about the possibilities of avatars that he asked me and Mike Resnick to edit an anthology of science fiction stories showcasing the sorts of things avatars can do. This story pulls together several examples of how amazing avatars can be, and how they can help us be more human at the same time.
The Next Best Thing to Being There
The immersive view of the rugged mountainside vanished as a white wave of snow and ice swept over them, experienced real-time by thousands of spectator-participants worldwide—armchair mountaineers, tourists, schoolchildren.
And Francesca.
The avatar tumbled, rolled, slid with sickening disorientation through the kinesthetic sensors. The optics became a whirlwind of pummeling snow; sensor touches conveyed the pounding pressure before the governing software dampened the input; haptics added a vertigo of falling.
“What happened?” Francesca cried. “What the hell happened?”
Her two young daughters were screaming next to her in the soft chairs of the control lounge. The media representatives connected to the SHERPA avatar flailed their hands against the unexpected avalanche that had struck the climbers on Mount Rainier.
In a separate room, some of the reporters tore off their interface sets, but Francesca maintained her telepresence connection as the rolling roar slowly ground to a halt. The SHERPA synthetic used its reactive software to stop its fall and anchor its polymer body in the sliding ice and snow.
Once stabilized, SHERPA scrubbed powdered snow away to clear its field of view, then used autonomous systems to dig itself free. Francesca experienced every moment through her passive interface, as well as the biting cold on her skin, the pressing weight of the snow.
Under a brilliant blue sky, she could see the breathtaking expanse of the glaciated volcano, the dazzling ice field, the gray rock jutting out of the white sea. Tens of thousands of virtual spectators experienced the same thing. The bright sun, uncommon for the Pacific Northwest, had made for spectacular visuals and a perfect ascent of the mountain, but several days of warmth might have melted just enough snow to make the ice field near Disappointment Cleaver unstable for the crossing.
Dr. Carlos Kingman, the program director, was shouting, and Francesca experienced a disorienting duality—hearing his panic next to her in the control lounge, while her real focus remained high above 13,000 feet. In a subwindow in the upper left corner of her field of view, she saw Kingman run to the summary screens.
“Full assessment—now.” He whirled, his deep brown eyes wild, his coffee-colored skin darkening with urgency. He yelled to his techs, “Use the disconnects, interrupt the educational feed. We don’t want the schoolchildren to see this.”
The participating reporters in the secondary lounge were already uploading commentary filled with questions and speculations, even though they knew nothing. Kingman knew nothing. Francesca knew nothing.
Dizzy and stunned from experiencing the avalanche, she gathered up the two young girls, wrapping her arms around Tanya and Tammy. A separate part of her experienced the avatar climbing out of the fallen snow, recalibrating itself and getting its bearings.
She was too confused in the first minute to understand the implications, but then the realization plunged down like a different kind of avalanche. She peeled off the optic interface and stared at Kingman. She had seen no sign of her husband or the mountain guide accompanying the robotic avatar. “What about Stephen? And James?”
She glanced at James Tobler’s slender wife, Nouri, who sat in another lounge chair, her knees drawn up to her chest, huddled in shock. Nouri still hadn’t figured it out.
Francesca raised her voice. “What about Stephen?”
Mount Rainier in Washington State, 14,411 feet high, had always been a bucket list item for her husband Stephen. He was outdoorsy and fit, though he had put on a little weight since the birth of their daughters.
Francesca and Stephen had met through a common love of hiking. Living in Colorado, they had set out to complete all five hundred miles of the Colorado Trail, which they did. Together, they climbed all 58 of the 14,000-foot peaks in Colorado, the Fourteeners. As a young couple, fully in love, they supported each other, learned skills together, and ticked the peaks off their list, one by one. Stephen had even dropped to his knee and proposed to her on the summit of Mount Sneffels.
They were both schoolteachers, a career choice with the added advantage of summers off—hiking season, mountain climbing season. After Tanya was born, though, Francesca retired from her teaching duties, while Stephen was promoted to vice principal; the resulting raise allowed her to watch their daughter, and then, a year later, Tammy as well.
They had done so much before they started a family, but Stephen occasionally dreamed of climbing either Everest or Kilimanjaro—admittedly unrealistic goals—as well as Mount Rainier, also difficult but much more accessible. He and Francesca both knew it wasn’t likely to happen.
Then last year, during a backyard barbecue with a few neighbors, Stephen had waxed poetic about mountain climbing in general and Mount Rainier in particular. Their neighbor, Carlos Kingman, had been intrigued with the conversation.
While Francesca rounded up the girls and let them play an inept but entertaining game of croquet in the backyard, Kingman lounged back in a lawn chair and looked at Stephen. “I bet there are countless people who would love to make the climb, but simply can’t arrange the trip, or who aren’t physically capable. What if you could do it?” Kingman raised his eyebrows. “What if you had the chance to climb Rainier, and tens of thousands of others could join you for the experience?”
“Sounds like an awfully crowded trail,” Stephen joked.
“I meant figuratively. What would it take for you to do the climb?”
“Other than getting in better shape?” Stephen cocked an eyebrow. “There’d be a lot of logistics planning, and I’d need the time off from school. It’s typically a three-day expedition, led by a professional guide. Even from the highest trailhead, the ascent is still nine thousand feet—a lot harder than any Fourteener in Colorado.” He sipped his beer with a wry expression. “Believe me, I’ve looked at all the details. I’ve dreamed. I’ve tried to make it happen. But … family obligat
ions, you know.”
Kingman wore a secretive smile. “I think there’s a way we could make it happen, with the full support of your school. It would be an educational opportunity you could share with the world, and I’ll have the funding. It would be a pilot project, a great demonstration of the ANA Avatar work—a surrogate experience for students all around the world, and an opportunity for many frustrated mountaineers who would like to subscribe.” He began talking faster. “We have a brand-new telepresence unit that would be perfect for this use.”
As she gathered up the croquet balls and made sure the girls didn’t accidentally hit each other with the mallets, Francesca could tell that Stephen was excited by the idea. He tried to cover it up with skepticism. “Using an avatar? You mean, people would sit at home and experience a real, gritty mountain climb without having to lift a muscle?”
“That would be for the subscriber base of spectator-participants,” Kingman said. “But somebody actually has to do it. You and a guide would accompany the avatar. Schoolchildren and paid participants would be connected via the SHERPA synthetic and experience everything you do.” He grinned.
“SHERPA? Is that an acronym for something?”
“Of course it is,” Kingman said with a chuckle, “but don’t ask me what the letters stand for. Somebody was being cute.” He set his own beer aside and stood from the lawn chair. “This would be a wonderful opportunity to show off the remote educational capabilities as well as the virtual tourism aspects the technology offers.”
In the dozen years since the awarding of the ANA Avatar XPRIZE—a bold initiative that encouraged the development of remote operation and experience via sensory technology—various “avatars” had blossomed throughout the industrial, creative, medical, and service worlds. The rapid development and widespread uses were far beyond what had been envisioned by Dr. Harry Kloor, the instigator and lead of the XPRIZE. Now, in 2036, avatars in all their forms were penetrating everyday life. Francesca had been aware of Dr. Kingman’s engineering work, but had not thought much about it. Neither had Stephen, but he was obviously intrigued with this new idea.
SHERPA was a sophisticated unit that would do more than just carry their packs and supplies; the robot was also a climbing partner that allowed Francesca and their daughters to virtually ride along. The plans came together smoothly, generating a great deal of media excitement.
Their experienced guide up Rainier, James Tobler, had summited the mountain more than fifty times. After a year of planning, Stephen and the robot set off from the Paradise trailhead on the first day, starting at an elevation of 5,000 feet in the thick forest. Guided by James, they headed across the Muir snowfield to the Muir Camp hut at 10,000 feet.
Classes tapped in, with thousands of students virtually participating in the climb; Stephen paused to give lectures, turning to face the avatar robot so he could explain geology, climate, or weather patterns on the mountain. Nearly 40,000 paid spectators worldwide also subscribed, paying a fee to vicariously experience the climb of Mount Rainier.
After a brief sleep in the cold Muir hut, they headed out at midnight under a full moon, ascending the glaciers. Thanks to the specialized permits Kingman had obtained for this project, their group had the normally crowded trail to themselves. James, Stephen, and SHERPA had reached the high point of Columbia Crest just in time for a breathtaking sunrise—all alone on the mountaintop, but silently accompanied by countless spectators and virtual companions, as well as Francesca and the two girls.
It had been glorious. Francesca had reached out, briefly allowed to use SHERPA’s interactive interface. With the avatar’s haptic sensors, she could take Stephen’s hand and share in his victory from the summit.
Kingman had been delighted at the demonstration of SHERPA’s abilities. A complete success, showcasing beneficial aspects of innovative avatar technologies inspired by the XPRIZE competition. The control lounge was filled with shouting celebrations.
But on the descent, while the three traversed the ice field near Disappointment Cleaver, disaster struck … while the whole world watched, and participated.
As SHERPA oriented itself in the broken snow, recovering its bearings on dangerous ground, Francesca remained connected, desperate to help, but she experienced only as an observer. The two girls were terrified. Tanya was trying to comfort her little sister.
As Kingman barked orders, his staff jacked into the active interfaces. “How much damage did the avatar suffer? Did we lose any physical integrity? Is the first aid suite intact?” He ran to the external readout deck, calling up screens, staring at diagnostics. “I need remote emergency physicians, now! Bring in our team of active medical responders.”
“We have to find the two men first, sir.”
“Then find them!”
Still listening to the diminishing rumble and slide of displaced ice chunks, Francesca asked, “What can I do to help? How can I pitch in?”
Kingman was hyperfocused. “We’re still assessing. We don’t know what’s happening yet.”
Francesca was desperate to do something, but she was too far away. She was just a former teacher, former hiker, now a mother. Unwilling to interfere with the avatar team in the crisis, she withdrew to the background. She watched through the optical sensors as SHERPA searched for the two men in the avalanche field.
“Cycle through wavelengths,” Kingman said. “We’ve got to find them. If they’re buried under the snow, we have only a few minutes. We know exactly where they were—run a back projection.”
James Tobler’s wife Nouri shook herself and stood from her own seat. “Where’s James? They’re buried!”
Francesca spoke aloud to the room, even though her eyes saw the silent, bright ice field and the gray comb of rock. “Is search and rescue on the way?”
“Full teams from Paradise base camp are heading up on foot.”
She knew how many miles that was. “They’ll take most of a day!”
“The weather’s good. We are also trying to launch helicopters. Rescue teams should be able to drop down on ropes—if we can find Stephen and James on the snowfield.”
Francesca watched through artificial eyes as SHERPA cycled through the spectrum, using various EM windows to search for the two men who had been tossed about on a wave of ice and snow. They would leave a significant thermal trace with their body heat, unless they were buried too deep.
SHERPA scrambled through the loose, cold rubble, scanning along the obvious avalanche path, looking up the slope to where the climbers had been. The avatar projected their drop path based on their precise last-known positions. The technicians jabbered, going over rough calculations.
Francesca felt adrift in the middle of the activity, but she kept looking, then spotted a bright smear in the garish infrared imaging. “Look, over there!” In her mind and ears, she heard countless other participants also identifying the heat signature—a human-shaped lump buried only a few feet beneath the fresh blanket of snow.
SHERPA bounded over on artificial hands and legs, extruding traction crampons. The robot was designed for agility on rough terrain, and during the climb from Paradise and across the glaciers to the summit, it had learned and adapted to the terrain. Now the avatar raced toward the thermal image. Digging furiously, it used polymer hands to scoop and shove the snow, exposing the head and shoulders of one of the men.
Nouri let out a sudden cry from her chair, and through the optical sensors, Francesca saw that it was James Tobler. The man wasn’t moving, and his head was bloody. Moving gingerly, SHERPA cleared away more debris to free the fallen guide and stabilize him on the uncertain slope.
“Get the emergency surgeons jacked in!” Kingman said. “Use the medical sensor suite to check him out. Is he still breathing?”
“He’s still breathing,” one of the techs said. “Getting vitals now.”
Francesca felt the control shift in the avatar body as medical teams took over the manipulation. She watched its robotic arms move, detected sensors a
ctivating, first aid apparatus locking into place from embedded channels in the robotic arms.
SHERPA rapidly pushed through layers of clothing to assess cardiac activity. Simultaneously, the avatar detected breathing, with no atypical sounds or gurgling. Airway, check. Breathing, check. The full electrocardiogram revealed no arrhythmias. With one polymer articulated hand, it pulled open James’s eyelids to assess the pupillary response.
In the background audio track, one of the physicians announced, “Both pupils are equal and responsive. If there were stroke or bleed, they’d be different, or they wouldn’t constrict. Brisk—they look good. Good chance there’s just a concussion. What’s the blood pressure?”
The remote doctors used the avatar’s embedded equipment to inflate securing pillows that stabilized his neck, packing quik-clot on the superficial scalp bleed. SHERPA held its hand just above James’s elbow and remained completely still for an eternity of 30 seconds, detecting the sound of the blood flowing as the robot gradually released its hold on the elbow and assessed blood pressure.
“Blood pressure is low, but in the normal range,” the remote physician announced. “Doesn’t seem like he’s lost much blood.”
Francesca was glad to see the guide cared for, but she longed to take control of the avatar and keep searching for Stephen along the avalanche path. He was buried out there somewhere.
Though she remained immersed in the connection, Francesca felt the warmth of a body, two bodies next to her. Her daughters were curled up beside her in the wide, comfortable experiential chair.
“Where’s Daddy?” Tammy asked. “Is he going to be all right?”
Despite the other connections through SHERPA, Francesca used real nerves and skin, a true sense of touch with her daughters, not through any haptic interface. She pulled the girls close and hugged them. “I hope so.”
Selected Stories: Volume 1 Page 11