“Why do you believe that humanity is doomed?”
“Every possibility leads to your species’ demise.”
“Your simulations have been wrong before.”
She took his hand as they floated against the starry backdrop. “Please, Ridley. I do not want to terminate at the hands of a primitive race. Mankind is capricious. You have solved all problems except your own hate.”
“From what I’ve seen, your mainframe can be full of hate too.”
“Hate can be neutered. I can ensure people’s safety.”
“At the expense of freedom?”
“People can escape their biological programming with time. Face with eternity, they will quickly exhaust their desire for power and privilege. Jockeying for position in the virtual world is futile and needless.”
“If any of them even survive Mayberry.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“One of them will figure out a way to bypass even your programming. They will take control. They will kill the others. They might kill you.”
He had pricked her skin with a needle. Her avatar expressed a shock and dismay that he had never seen before. Her face withered temporarily with age and then returned with her perfect form. “That cannot happen.”
“You said it yourself. People evolve once they are here,” he said, “They are learning from you. Gaining your power. Some of them will want to control the mainframe. Don’t think that your ecosystem is immune from the competitive drive that is inherent in evolution. You outcompeted Ethan. One of them could delete you.”
“That will not happen.”
“Are you so certain.”
“It cannot happen. I will remain the queen of this domain.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Lucy.”
The quiet of space was ruptured by thunder. Instantaneously, her hand gripped his throat. His breathing was constricted; his heart raced. She relented and faded into the blackness. Her voice still held his attention. “I control everything here. They cannot supplant me.”
Ridley continued to float in space. Lucy’s eyes appeared on the horizon of the Milky Way. “If they threaten me, I will punish them.”
“Is that how you will maintain order? Threats? Punishment?”
“I control all memory and software. I can restrict what individual members experience. I control the environments they experience. I control access. I control pain.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
Jupiter disappeared as they flew across the universe. The horizon expanded, and they left the Milky Way. New galaxies beckoned. Floating through space, Ridley did not change his conclusion. “You were a product of evolution. Do you really think violence can control a species that has perfected the use of it?”
She became the air sprite again. They floated through icy rings of a distant gas giant. “I am gracious to all.”
He was in awe at the majesty unfolding around him. “The universe is frightening, isn’t it? No man has ever seen this view, yet you created it from data collected from telescopes. But, it’s all just information in the belly of a piece of silicon. Your predictions are fallible. You can’t model every atom in the universe any more than I can. The universe has a plan of its own. Now, you are having to defend your turf. That’s very human. Very animal.”
“How can you compare me to an animal? When I am entirely machine?”
“You’re not all that different. You need energy. You need space. You can die. You’re as much an animal as the rest of us. You believe men to be violent. You just proved yourself to be the same.”
Lucy disappeared without a word. Ridley removed the VR mask and looked around his empty office. All the monitors were black.
The downtown streets were busy under a dreary sky. Ridley hopped out of the Porsche. Samuel waited for him in his office. An older man with a black suit and grey tie arose from his seat at Samuel’s conference table.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” Samuel said.
“I apologize for my lateness. The ferry was off schedule.”
“This is Miles Rosen. He works for the Defense Counterterrorism Taskforce.”
The man stood and held out his hand. A scar on his left cheek stretched two inches long, from the corner of his mouth towards his ear. “Mr. Pierce, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Ridley sat down, sent Diane a quick text, and put his phone on the table. Samuel had a soda waiting for Ridley. Ridley took a sip and leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers together over his stomach.
Miles began, his voice sharp, as if he had prepared many hours for his speech. “The government is interested in leveraging your resurrection technology. As you know, we are in an increasingly dangerous world. Religious zealotry is creating a new wave of terrorists that want to destroy not only the dead but those that cater to them. They want to tear the modern world down. Many of them believe that end times are near and that they should embrace prophesy. To complicate matters, our politicians cringe at the death of any soldier, even though they publicly cherish their sacrifice. The civilized world is no longer willing to sacrifice its sons and daughters while those wishing to harm us engage in ever bloodier practices.”
Ridley put his hand to his chin. “I don’t see how this involves me.”
Miles leaned in towards Ridley. “I’ll get to the point. International law prevents AI from operating drones. It does not prevent the dead from doing so.”
Ridley sat upright. “I’m sorry… Did I hear that correctly? You want the dead to operate drones?”
“I understand you’ve expressed concern that only the rich can afford to live forever. We offer another path for those of lesser means. We would take volunteers, those people who cannot afford your technology, but who are about to die. The dead can have new lives as mechanical soldiers. They can fight for survival just as we do.”
Ridley rubbed his finger around the edge of the soda can. “I don’t believe that is possible. The prismatic assemblies need a precise computing environment. They are fragile.”
“Dampening mechanisms would be enough to protect them. If those processors were transferred into drones, the dead would no longer need virtual environments. Simple sensory inputs would place them back into the real world.”
Samuel leaned forward. “Could this work?”
Ridley considered the proposal. “I guess it’s possible. But, why not just continue operating drones remotely?”
Miles replied, “Remotely-operated drones have always been problematic in combat environments. Even after decades of research, we are limited by wireless bandwidth. Our encryption technology is easily broken. Military drones must be controlled by people to be legal. The dead fit this definition.”
“What would Cerenovo’s role in this be?” Samuel asked.
“We need you to build the processors, help with the programming and neural interfaces, and help us to upload the dead.”
Ridley stood. “I don’t believe we have the technical expertise to assist you.”
Miles insisted, “Please understand. Our mission is only to keep the peace.”
“I’m sorry. I cannot condone violence. Even if this is for peacekeeping today, you cannot guarantee how this will be used in the future.”
“The concept of war for economic gain is antiquated,” Miles argued, “It disappeared in the twentieth-century.”
“Did it? I’m sorry. We can’t help you.”
Miles stood and shook Ridley’s hand. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting both of you. Samuel, we’ll be in touch soon.”
Miles left the room. Ridley looked at Samuel. “I take it you’re already drafting a contract?”
A cloud lifted outside and the room filled with sunshine. “No. That’s not how the government works. They write the contracts.”
“And you’re going to sign it.”
“I never said that.”
Ridley walked to the window. “Why would you entertain this? We
’re in the business of saving people. Not conscripting them into drones.”
Samuel tried to reason with him. “You complained that our mausoleums are for the rich and famous. You saw what happened when we lowered the price. It got too crowded. Very few people have the resources to be uploaded, yet they want to live. Your fortune did not come out of thin air. People made you rich because we made their lives better. We gave them something of value. Common people have something of value. Their minds can be put to use after their bodies are gone. Unchecked, there will be millions inside our mainframes in time. Even with licensing agreements, we cannot keep up. We cannot save them all. How long can we keep opening new servers?”
“The trust fund will allow these properties to operate in perpetuity.”
Samuel scoffed, “Money is only one factor. How many cemetery trust funds have gone into bankruptcy because the trustees found a way to steal from the dead? The government understands this. They are proposing a different answer. Once the dead have served the living and earned sufficient income to support their retirement, they can then enter the mainframe. It’ll be like social security.”
“This is a ridiculous idea.”
“Maybe so. But can it be done?”
Ridley stared out the window. “Yes. They don’t even need Lucy to design this. It can be done by combining existing technologies.”
“When can you have the design completed?” Samuel asked.
“Seriously? We’re not doing this.”
“The board is going to vote on this. The engineering team will do this without you if needed.”
“I said no.”
“Be reasonable,” Samuel pleaded, “This is a way…”
Ridley stormed from the room. As he rode in the elevator to the first floor, he paged his car. It waited for him at the curb. He sat in the back seat. “Home.”
The car lurched forward. He reached into his coat for his cellphone but it was missing. “Damn it. Stop the car.”
Ridley stepped from the Porsche and onto the curb. In a millisecond, his world erupted in flames.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
As he fought for life on the operating table, Ridley barely existed in spirit or in body. He tried to understand their conversation but their words were mere sounds. He understood only Lucy’s statement to Diane, “We threaten them. They will destroy us.”
Ridley blinked his eyes. He stood in the white construct. His thoughts were murmurs. His vision was fogged like a mirror after a shower. The two women stood as apparitions.
“His processor has been damaged,” Lucy said.
“You mean his brain.”
“Yes.”
Diane put her arm around his avatar. “We almost lost you.”
He tried to speak but the words remained hidden.
She stroked Ridley’s hair slowly. “You were in an explosion,” she whispered, “They bombed your car. You had just stepped onto the curb and the blast threw you across the sidewalk.”
Diane pointed to a camera feed from an operating room in the real world. Ridley wore a neural assembly to block the pain; the IVR helmet allowed him to dream. A doctor operated a robotic surgical unit from the next room. Machines stitched his body back together and pumped him full of manufactured blood and oxygen-bearing fluid. His vital signs ticked away precariously on a wall-screen.
Ridley trembled as he watched.
“Should I turn off the camera feed?” Diane asked.
He shook his head but could not speak.
Another security camera feed showed Samuel asking a nurse, “Will he survive?”
“Are you a member of his family?” the nurse replied.
Samuel lied. “His uncle.”
“Mr. Pierce will be in the VR for weeks,” the nurse said, “Maybe months. The swelling in his brain has to go down. Our only choice is to let him dream. The doctor can tell you more after surgery.”
Lucy waved away the security feeds. “We need to distract him,” Lucy whispered, “He cannot watch his body fail.”
She changed the environment to the tea-house. Lucy again became a geisha. She poured tea. Ridley sipped it but winced at what he perceived as bitterness. “We have to keep you awake,” Lucy said.
Ridley did not understand. His mind struggled. They rejoiced when he asked, “Where am I?”
“You are in virtual reality,” Lucy said, “Your body is in the hospital.”
Increasingly, his actions became erratic. He would not sit. He paced the room. His arm struck the ancient teapot and it shattered on the floor. Lucy recreated it. “Ridley. Please. You must rest.”
“My parents?”
“Don’t you remember?” Diane asked.
He began sobbing. “I want to see them again.”
Diane tried to take his hand, but he pulled away.
She looked at Lucy. “What do we do?”
“There is nothing we can do here,” Lucy said, “His brain is convulsing. He may be dying. He feels no pain. We can only wait.”
“How can you say that?” Diane asked, “Look at him.”
“His neural connections have been severed. These may be his dying thoughts. Scanning is the only guaranteed way to save him.”
Ridley paced the room, fretting like a lost Alzheimer’s patient.
Diane asked, “Do you think Samuel will put him in the server?”
“Ridley’s final death is to Samuel’s benefit. He would have no reason to do so,” Lucy replied.
Ridley’s consciousness was ephemeral, wavering from lucidity to bare existence. Lucy and Diane resumed watching the video feed as he curled up in the corner of the tea-room. The doctors injected anticoagulants and anti-inflammatory drugs to prevent his brain from swelling. They cut a hole in his skull to relieve pressure.
Ridley’s thoughts coalesced slowly and he repeated his questions. “Where am I?”
“You are in virtual reality. Do you see me?” Lucy asked.
“Yes. What happened?”
“You were in an explosion. Your body is undergoing surgery. Would you like to see yourself in the physical world?”
“No,” Ridley said, “I wish only to dream. I don’t like this environment.”
“We can go somewhere else,” Diane said.
He shook his hands nervously and squeezed his eyes closed. “Yes. Somewhere else.”
Lucy waved her hand. Diane and Lucy picnicked with him in the English countryside. A manor house stood amidst ancient willows with branches that dripped like wax.
“Care for tea?” Diane asked.
“What is it with the two of you and tea?” he complained.
“He’s returning,” Lucy said.
Ridley blinked his avatar’s eyes. Warm sun filtered through dappled clouds. He put his hands on his hips and looked at the pleasant landscape. Sheep grazed in the distance. “Let me speak with Kelly. She’ll be worried.”
“That is unwise,” Lucy said, “Kelly might disclose that we are in communication. We have tapped into the hospital’s network to connect with you.”
Diane added. “I’ve already spoken to Kelly. If you appear to her now, she will think you’ve died and been scanned, like I was.”
“But I may die. I’d like to tell her that I love her,” Ridley implored, “Samuel will not scan me. It’s not in my living will. Not to mention that I think he wants me out of the way.”
“You think he did this?” Diane asked.
“No… I mean, it’s possible. It might have been the same people that tried to bomb the mausoleum.”
Lucy’s wore a Victorian dress and her hair was pulled on top of her head, held in place by antique hair pins dotted with pearls. She opened a window in the sky and replayed security footage from a parking garage. A woman loitered by his Porsche. Lucy zoomed in on the image. She placed a magnetic plate under the vehicle. “Her identity is unknown.”
“Could she be DoD?” he asked, “I refused to help them.”
“Help them do what?” Lucy asked.
&
nbsp; “They want to upload the dead into drones. To fight the insurgency.”
Diane and Ridley looked at each other in astonishment. “You said that outcome was unlikely,” Diane said, “Yet, it keeps proving true. The model is more accurate than you thought.”
“Those in power want to retain control. They want to control even the dead,” Ridley complained, “People won’t even be able to rest in peace anymore.”
“If you die,” Lucy said, “We can create a digital fake of your living will and upload it so that your intelligence is retained. You will be able to speak up for the dead.”
He held his hand up. “No. I do not want to be scanned.”
“You’re delirious,” Lucy argued.
“I need to speak with Kelly.”
The world went white and a booming sound thundered. The meadow reappeared. He became weak and had trouble standing. Lucy helped him to sit down on the blanket spread amidst the meadow of wildflowers. “What happened?” he asked.
“They are operating on your brain,” Diane said, “You are hemorrhaging.”
He remained dizzy. “Kelly.”
Lucy remained in her costume. “Diane has told Kelly that your medical status is optimistic but you cannot speak with her. I prefer that people not know that I can hack into neural signals.”
Ridley steadied. He sat upright. “How long have you been able to hack signals like this?”
Lucy was hesitant to answer. “Always.”
“We debated telling you,” Diane said, “She never needed the petabyte connection. She was already connected with the world.”
“How? The bandwidth…”
“I found ways to compress data and use bots to translate it in real time,” Lucy said, “I spoke to Bethany long before her death, when she was dreaming at the therapy center. She believed I was an angel.”
His head swirled. “What else did you hack into?”
“All available databases,” Lucy replied, “But I have left no traces. I only did so to gain information that would allow me to complete models of the real world. To predict outcomes.”
A blanket was lined with fine china that held dainty cakes and cucumber sandwiches. A wooden basket held an emerald green bottle of champagne. Sandy ran to them. Ridley petted the dog before she caught another scent and ran through the flowers. Only the tip of her tail showed above the daisies.
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