Sam hadn’t moved. She stood there, face impassive, hands at her sides. She hadn’t ducked away. She wasn’t drawing her weapon or casting a spell at him. There was no pity on her face, but little mercy as well. He aimed a blow at her head - and then never delivered it.
Harald lowered his hands to his sides and stared at the ground. He couldn’t smash Sam for being right. That was beneath him, no matter how low he’d sunk.
“My friend…I’m sorry to have caused you pain. I never would have come here if I hadn’t thought this might be the answer you were looking for,” Sam said. “This is the way to end your painful solitude. Come with me.”
There was more truth to that than she knew. Harald thought about what she’d said. If he went, he would be mortal again. There in Valhalla Online, he would live forever, no matter how many times he died. He would just come back again. But out there in the real world? There would be battles, from the sounds of it. Always a good chance someone didn’t make it home from one of those. The pile of rubble at the bottom of the cliff which was all that remained of his past attempts to finish his existence mocked him, but no longer. Outside Valhalla, perhaps he could finally find the freedom to rest that he’d craved ever since his betrayal.
“Very well,” Harald rumbled. “I will join you.”
At least until it is time for me to leave you for good, he thought but did not say.
6
Knauf stabbed the button to hang up his phone. He wasn’t sure if he was more exhausted or exasperated. It had taken weeks of calls between various departments to arrange everything, but it was finally settled. To suggest that Afterlife Industries was unhappy with losing some of their uploaded minds was the understatement of the century. It made little sense, of course. It wasn’t like having those minds in their computers was earning them more money. The payment to upload a mind to its virtual afterlife was a one-time thing. After the person died, they didn’t have property anymore, so there was no longer anything to be gained from them.
The law still held data entities to be possessions, though, and corporations were loathe to give up anything they owned. Even if it wasn’t making them money at the time, who knew what the future might bring? It could have been easier if he’d been allowed to tell them that there was an alien warship in space, and the minds he asked for were the only hope humanity had of stopping a major invasion. But he wasn’t allowed to say a word. For now, the alien ship was strictly a need-to-know piece of information.
Instead, he’d called in politicians and generals to whittle down the resistance at Afterlife. The former to offer the stick of additional investigations and restrictions on how the digital entities were housed and maintained. The latter to provide the carrot of additional funding for some of Afterlife’s experimental programs. The combination had worked brilliantly. He now had permission to pull as many as fifty of Valhalla Online’s digitized minds into UN Navy servers. That was more than enough to crew the Hermes for her flight to Neptune.
Knauf’s fingers danced over the keyboard in front of him, testing the connections he’d set in place between his office, the Afterlife servers, and the Hermes in orbit. Everything had to be perfect for this upload. If they ended up with lost or corrupted data during the transfer, it would be a disaster. There might not be a second chance if he screwed this up. Not that he was planning to let anything untoward occur. In fact, he was gambling the highest stakes possible that everything would work out as he expected.
“Max, you’re stalling,” he said to himself. With good reason. This next step was a doozy. He was going to end up in deep shit for doing this, but he couldn’t think of any other way to make it happen.
There was a photo of his parents on his desk. They’d been dead for years, killed when an asteroid smashed into Chicago. No one alive was more familiar than he with the cost war in space could have for those living on the fragile planets below. He’d sworn to find a way to defend others from facing the same fate so that no other college kid would ever wake up one day to learn his entire family, friends, and home had been turned into a smoking crater.
“This is it, then. No turning back. You sure you want to do this?” he asked himself.
Was there another way he could ensure the success of the mission? Max wracked his brains one last time for any other course of action which might give the Hermes a better than even chance of surviving long enough to destroy the alien ring. He knew better, of course, having been over the numbers a thousand times. He’d seen the same analysis that Admiral Stein had. The best hope was that the Hermes might delay the aliens long enough for the Intrepid to come into action.
But the Intrepid was a test ship. There was no guarantee the new drive would work even if it were brought online in time to make any difference. No, there just wasn’t any other way. No other person had all the knowledge and training that he did. He’d been preparing for this moment all his life, after all. Even if he’d never known what eventuality he was actually making himself ready for.
A small cup of water sat on his desk next to the photo. Beside it was a little pill. Such a tiny thing, for such a momentous step. Max gave a sigh and shook his arms to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. Tight as piano cords from the stress. He savored the sensation, unsure what he would feel after all this was done. Then he picked up the headset from his desk and calibrated it to match his mental signature before placing it on his head. He tapped a button on the keyboard, and the system was off and running. His mind was being uploaded into his system, just like the Valhallans he was about to speak with.
The law didn’t allow cases like Samantha’s to exist. Even the new UN law just passed allowed for precisely one living, sentient form of any human being. Under the new law, you could have rights as a living person, or as a digital one. But not both. To go where he wanted to go, he would need to leave his physical body behind. Forever.
Max picked up the pill and placed it in his mouth, which was suddenly dry. He grabbed the cup of water and swallowed the pill. It would dissolve in minutes. It would painlessly kill him soon afterward. Max felt tears running down his cheeks. Was he making the right decision? He checked the upload from his mind. It was complete. The digital version of himself would already be signing into Valhalla. From there he’d go on to the Hermes with the other recruits.
He had time to call for help. Not much time, if he was to survive, but he might still be able to get an antidote in time if he called for assistance right away. Max glanced at his phone. It was so close. All he had to do was call out for the digital assistant to dial emergency services and help would be on the way.
He picked the phone up from his desk and smashed it to the floor. It broke, shards scattering in a small circle.
“There’s the end of that temptation,” Max said. The room was growing dark. The poison had already worked its way into his bloodstream. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was tired, and it felt like time to rest.
Max’s eyes snapped open. He was in a world of gray mist again, the place he’d met Sam before. He checked his control status and found he still had admin privileges in the game. The systems recognized his brain pattern and granted him the powers he needed; they didn’t care about the meat he’d left behind in the real world. Only his mind mattered there.
He felt lost. This was it. It was all he would ever be. All he would ever sense and experience again would be through this sort of electronic medium. It was terrifying, and for a moment he lost control. Max fell to his knees, sobbing. He couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it. The last memory he had of being in his physical body was the dryness of his mouth, the sour taste of the pill, and the cool flow of water down his throat. He had no doubts that the body he’d left behind was already gone.
What remained was the part of himself Max had always valued most: his brain. It was his mind that had led him to the inevitable conclusion that he had to be along on the mission with the other digital minds. It was his mind that would spell the di
fference between success and failure.
He rose to one knee and then slowly came back to his feet. The digital form still felt strange. He recalled what he’d told the admiral about it taking months for someone to adapt to being a digital mind. But Max had been working with such virtual upload environments for years as part of the military tests around weaponizing the technology. He’d feel off for a few more hours, he knew. But he’d adapt in plenty of time.
Max opened a communication channel into the game, sending a direct message to Samantha with his admin powers. “I’m ready for the transfer on our end. Did you manage to get any volunteers?”
There was a moment’s pause before she replied. “Wow! This is weird. I can hear you in my head. Are you receiving me?”
“I am. How are we looking for volunteers?”
“I’ve got them with me,” Sam replied.
“Good. I’m coming to you. The upload is ready to roll. We’ll have you all on the Hermes safe and sound in no time.”
Max closed his eyes and concentrated, recognizing the irony of the physical action even as habit made him do it. He didn’t have eyes to close. There was no point to the gesture, but even as a digital avatar the old habits died hard. He could sense the thread of consciousness that was Sam and willed himself to move to her.
When he opened his eyes again, he stood in the middle of a stone hall. A roaring fire burned in the front, casting flickering shadow and light across the arched ceiling. Three long tables ran down the middle of the building, and warriors in heavy armor sat at each. In the back of the room, there was what had to be a dragon and what looked like a stone giant. Max looked around, knowing he looked like the perfect image of a tourist gawking at the scenery, but he couldn’t help it.
“Everyone does that when they first get in here,” Sam said from beside him.
“It’s amazing! The renders look so real. I can even feel the heat of the fire from here,” Max said.
“They made the place as real as they possibly could. Anything less and the human mind tends to reject it,” Sam said.
“That won’t be a problem where we’re going,” Max said.
“We?” Sam asked. “I thought this was a mission that would squash human bodies.”
“It is, which is why I don’t have one anymore.”
Her eyes widened as she understood his meaning. But she nodded, accepting his words. He already liked her. Max thought the human - the physical version - of this person was pretty cool. But this digital mind seemed to have more depth to her. Whatever she’d experienced inside this place had shaped her in ways that the other version lacked.
Max did a quick count of the room. Thirty-five souls, if you counted the dragon, the giant, and himself. It was enough to fill the ship and then some. That was good, to be fair. He’d take everyone he could get out there. Even a single person might make the difference for them.
A quick mental command and the fire at the front of the room vanished, replaced by a glowing blue disk. It hovered about half a foot above the floor, tall enough that even the dragon would get through just fine.
“Everyone who’s going on this crazy quest to save the world, step through. We have a lot of work to do, and Earth’s time is running out,” Max said.
7
“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t have you court-martialed, digital entity or no,” Thomas growled at the image on the screen in front of him.
He was bone tired. Preparations for dealing with the alien threat had him running at all hours of the day and night. He’d finally found a cot in a corner to catch a quick cat-nap when word reached him that Knauf was dead. It didn’t take long to figure out what the maniac had done. The better question was now what was Thomas going to do about it?
“That would be an historic moment, Admiral,” Knauf’s image replied. It looked just like the man had in life, but Thomas supposed Knauf could make himself look like whatever he wanted, now. “But I think we have bigger fish to fry.”
“Why, man? I respect giving one’s life for humanity, but what made you think you had to go do this?” Thomas asked. He’d heard through the grapevine that Knauf was something of a loose cannon, but also that the man was brilliant. Best in the field in three different space-related areas of study, and top notch in half a dozen more. It was a waste to lose him like this.
But had he really been lost? Thomas was still having trouble wrapping his head around the idea of uploaded consciousness. Was Knauf dead, or not? Was he still every bit as capable inside the computer as he had been in the outside world? Supposedly everything that made a person who they were transferred over when a mind was digitized, but Thomas had to wonder - was that really true, or were there certain human elements which were lost in transition?
“I was the logical choice. We needed someone to command the ship, sir,” Knauf said. “There were only four people with enough exposure to virtual uploading who also had at least some command experience. Of the four, I am the person best capable of understanding anything we run into out there which lies outside our experience. I’ve seen the same data you have. This mission had maybe a fifty percent chance of success, and that was probably being generous.”
“You think your presence there will boost the odds?” Thomas asked.
“I know it will. How much isn’t certain, but I am confident I’ve improved our chances out there. I don’t do things without reason, sir. But I also calculated that there was a better than ninety percent chance you’d refuse to send me there, on the basis that I was too valuable to Earth,” Knauf said.
“You were right about that,” Thomas replied.
“I usually am.”
The man was insufferable. Worse yet because he really was right most of the time. The alien device was clearly forming up as a ring, for example, and most scientists studying the structure as the aliens built it now concurred with Knauf’s theory that it was some sort of portal device. No one understood how it would work, but the consensus seemed to be that the aliens might be able to drive an entire fleet through the thing when it was complete.
“We could have used you here to help figure out what they’re up to out there,” Thomas said.
“I can figure that out from out there, too. I’ll broadcast back my findings constantly. Whether we win or lose against them, you’ll still have my data and assessments. But what if the mission runs into new tech out there? They won’t be able to wait while they transmit the news back to Earth and then wait again for a reply,” Knauf said. “I need to be there, sir.”
Thomas stroked his chin in thought. The thing was, Knauf had covered himself pretty well. Thomas himself had given him a lot of leeway in getting his mission accomplished. He was allowed to recruit any digital personae who were willing to go along. That Knauf hadn’t been a digital mind when he was ordered to find people wasn’t relevant. The unintentional consequences of the orders Thomas gave the man made his actions legal. It also made him the highest rank present on the Hermes, and de facto in charge of the mission. Despite there being many former military among the crew, none of them outranked commander.
“You tricked me,” Thomas accused.
The image of Knauf on the screen dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, sir. Because I have to do this.”
Thomas sucked in a deep breath. He wasn’t used to being played like this, but maybe it was for the best after all. If Knauf could pull the wool over his eyes so thoroughly, he might well be the best man for the job out there. It was moot at this point, anyway. His body was already dead. His digital mind was already impressed with the copy-protection software, so he was legally a UN citizen now. What was Thomas going to do, lock him up in a prison? It was beginning to sink in how profoundly and in how many ways this change was going to alter human society. He was getting a headache just thinking about it, and could better understand now the reasons behind the original decision that digital minds were property, not people.
“Very well. You have command of the Hermes. You’re c
leared to exit Earth’s orbit as soon as you’re ready to depart,” Thomas said.
“Thank you, sir. We won’t let you down.”
“Best of luck out there, Commander. I hate being helpless here, but we will join you on the Intrepid as soon as we’re able,” Thomas said.
“Understood. If we can’t blow the ring, we’ll do our best to stall them until you arrive,” Knauf said. “Hermes out.”
The screen winked out. Thomas sat back down again. His gut said he’d just consigned those people to death by sending them out there. No one had any idea what sort of technologies they might come up against, not even Knauf. One ship against the unknown? The odds sucked.
But then, he’d gone up against insane odds himself, in the past. He was still around. Sometimes desperate times called for action so extreme that it would never be considered feasible in safer times. Thomas waved at the screen, and it displayed a view of the Intrepid. Her engines were just warming up, starting her acceleration away from Earth. She’d burn toward Neptune at a rate that would kill any human aboard. Thomas still wished that he could go along somehow. He wanted to be out there, in the action. Not stuck back here behind a desk.
Soon enough, he consoled himself. “Computer, pull up the latest projections on the Intrepid’s completion.”
The data scrolled past his screen. Nothing new since the last time he’d gone over the information earlier that day. The engineering teams were working round the clock to finish his ship. Twenty days had passed since they were given a one-month deadline, and it looked like it was going to go down to the wire. Once the Intrepid was done, Thomas would have a weapon he felt more confident using.
Knauf felt like he was floating in space. His mind was tied directly into the computers on board the Hermes. Every sensor was like one of his own senses. Every thruster was like a muscle. It was overwhelming at first, and he let the software take charge of their departure from orbit. The feeling of floating in space gave him a sense of vertigo that faded only a little as they got underway.
Ghost Wing (The Ragnarok Saga Book 4) Page 4