Upload

by McClelland, Mark

  "It's weird to feel underground but know you're so high up."

  Anya stopped to pick up drinks from a cocktail waitress, turning to Raymond to ask what he wanted. He looked at the tray of crude clay goblets, full of what appeared to be different liquid metals.

  "I have no idea."

  She selected one of the goblets and handed it to him. "Mercury," she informed him.

  He took a sip of it. It was thick like mercury but tasted like licorice.

  They continued through corridors, eventually turning and climbing a long, narrow stone staircase. At the top, they emerged into a vast space, windows all around, tables and couches and bars in groupings around the floor. In the center was a hologram of a pegasus, flying in place. Raymond found himself underwhelmed, spoiled by v-world bars.

  The group sat in couches around a low table, near a window overlooking the Ambassador Bridge. Raymond and Anya sat together in a love seat, close to Suma and Tony. They discussed their drinks and did a good deal of passing and sampling.

  Raymond's wrist relay vibrated. He glanced at it and saw that Scorpio had some news about the project. Emboldened by liquor, he decided to take a quick look at the news. He closed his eyes and skimmed a summary relayed to his retinal implants. A paragraph of text appeared before him. The heading was all he needed to see: "Zootorium goes public with the uploaded-chimp deal." He had been watching the deal unfold since Tuesday, listening to Bob's private channels.

  "So," muttered Raymond to himself. "It's public."

  "What's public?" asked Anya. "What is it?"

  "Zootorium," responded Raymond.

  Suma turned and leaned in to hear what Raymond was saying. "Zootorium what?" she asked. The name alone was enough to raise concern.

  "They just announced a deal. Bob caved. He signed a contract to exhibit two uploaded chimps."

  Suma's jaw dropped. "No way! You know, he is so full of shit. How many times has he gone off about not blurring the line between a-life and uploaded life?"

  "I can't believe he didn't tell us," complained Anya. "He's told us every time he didn't accept a deal with Zootorium. He's probably been working on this since the ESW decision."

  "What's going on?" asked Tony. "What's Zootorium?"

  "It's a zoo v-world," explained Suma. "All the animals are a-life animals, and Bob has agreed to give them exhibit time for an uploaded chimp."

  Tony still looked lost.

  "Artificial life," continued Suma, "is a type of digital life created from scratch, unlike uploaded life. It's really complex software, built up from—"

  "No, no," interjected Tony. "I know what a-life is. I think I've actually been to Zootorium—I just didn't remember the name. But I don't get what's wrong with having an uploaded chimp in the zoo. Wouldn't they be paying for that?"

  "They may be," said Suma, "but—"

  "They are," confirmed Raymond.

  "But a-life has no real rights," continued Suma.

  "It's awful," said Anya. "People abuse a-life all the time. There's this whole fucked-up pseudo-science based on torturing a-life creatures. People use a-life to explore the limits of pain, hunger, dehydration—you name it, and they pass it all off as okay because they can always just kill the creature and restore it from backup. Or they say that humans created this new life-form, so we can do what we want with it."

  "Most people make shitty gods," said Raymond.

  "And Bob knows all this," complained Suma. "He's turned down Zootorium every time they've approached him, because he doesn't want to blur the line between a-life and uploaded life. We're losing the fight for a-life rights. He wants to make sure uploaded life gets a fresh start."

  Raymond nodded in agreement. He had always been impressed that Bob had a strategy for advancing the rights of digital life.

  "So," said Tony, "if the chimps are on display alongside a-life animals, the concern is that people will lump them all together?"

  Suma and Anya both nodded in confirmation. Anya turned to Raymond. "Are there any details on how the exhibit will be handled?"

  Raymond closed his eyes and skimmed the rest of the summary. "It says they'll be in a special part of the zoo where they show footage of real animals."

  Anya and Suma looked to each other.

  "That's not so bad," admitted Suma.

  "Actually," said Raymond, "I guess that might be a good thing. You can accentuate contrast by putting two things next to each other."

  "Organic animals and uploaded animals?" asked Anya, not seeing Raymond's point.

  "No, a-life and uploaded," said Raymond. "Having them in the same zoo but in separate exhibits actually makes perfect sense—it contrasts the two."

  "Still," said Suma, "I can't believe Bob did this without asking anyone. He's so full of himself."

  "That is shitty," said Tony, "but if it brings in more money..."

  "It will help us save more animals," admitted Anya. "At least we can drink to that."

  She raised her glass, and they all toasted to saving more animals. Anya chugged the remainder of her drink.

  "Well, what do you know—I'm empty. Drink up, Raymond, and we'll go get another round."

  o-------------------------------o

  The party eventually progressed to another bar, a cheery little neighborhood place with an Irish pub theme. A trio played and sang traditional Irish songs. The louder setting caused the group to split up into smaller groups and huddle closer, to hear each other. Raymond found it difficult to listen hard enough to hear everything being said, and he ended up tuning out, nursing his beer, watching a couple of balding men buy drinks for a group of very attractive younger women.

  "You need something stronger!" shouted Tony to Raymond. "You ever had an Irish Car Bomb?"

  Raymond shook his head.

  "You drop a shot of Bailey's in a pint of Guinness and chug the whole thing."

  Raymond nodded, insufficiently experienced with alcohol to be able to imagine what this might taste like. But Tony treated him like a buddy, and Raymond liked Tony.

  "Sounds great."

  o-------------------------------o

  By the time Anya dragged Raymond onto the floor of the salsa club, he was far enough gone to try just about anything. Anya gave him some quick instructions, demonstrated the basic steps, and the next thing he knew, he was dancing, propelled by her strong lead. The sport of keeping his feet under him, combined with the enormous pride he felt at the mere fact that he was on the dance floor, proved to be riotous good fun.

  "I'm dancing!" he shouted. "This is so fucking great!"

  Unfortunately, the act of assembling words added a degree of complexity that was too much for his brain to manage. He lost his balance, fell into Anya, and would have taken them both down had it not been for the massive-bicepped latino man just behind Anya. The man turned around looking ready to flatten Raymond, but the stream of Spanish apologies that flowed from Anya's mouth saved him.

  "Take a break," shouted the man to Raymond.

  Raymond nodded largely in acceptance of this man's greater wisdom and happily followed Anya off the floor. They made their way to the bar and stood drinking water together.

  "That was fun!" said Raymond. "I was dancing."

  Anya beamed at his boyish excitement. They lingered at the bar awhile, watching people dance.

  "Hey," said Raymond. "I saw v-chambers. Come here, I want to show you something."

  Anya looked apprehensive.

  "No, seriously," insisted Raymond. "Set your glass down. I want to show you something."

  He led her through the club, to the wall where he had seen v-chambers. "Wow," he said. "These are two-person v-chambers, aren't they?"

  "Yeah," responded Anya. "I don't know how clean they are."

  Raymond ignored her hesitation and pulled her into a chamber with a green "vacant" sign. The door slid closed, there was a dull thunking sound, and a service persona announced that the chamber was locked. The space around them turned into a psychedelic littl
e lounge. Raymond tapped his wrist relay and established a voice connection with Scorpio.

  "Scorpio, open a public gateway to Nurania for me. Top of Mount Lidral."

  "Are you drunk?" asked Scorpio.

  "Shut up and do it," said Raymond. "It's just for a while." He chuckled and pointed at his relay. "I think I made him too smart."

  Raymond fed the address of the new gateway to the v-chamber.

  "Oh, my god," said Anya. "Are you going to show me your v-world?"

  Raymond grabbed her hand as the space around them morphed into the top of Mount Lidral. Anya let out a little gasp. It was nighttime, and it took a while for their eyes to adjust to the light of the two crescent moons. Anya wrapped her arms around Raymond's waist.

  "Where are we?" asked Anya.

  "On top of Mount Lidral. Just a second. Close your eyes. God mode. Group teleport to Anya's flower garden."

  They teleported to the center of the flower garden, next to the pond. Raymond was pleased that he could pull all this off, in his current state.

  "Flower garden?" she asked.

  "Open your eyes," said Raymond excitedly.

  She drew a sharp breath. "How beautiful. Oh my god. You made this for me?"

  "Remember when you first asked me to give you a yoga lesson? Well, after the lesson, I was going to bring you here. But you said you wanted to get something to eat, and it just kind of... didn't happen."

  "You made this for me before we even did yoga the first time? Oh, Raymond!" Her voice cracked, and she threw herself into a hug. He grinned with delight. "So, show me around. It's so dark—it's a little hard to see."

  "Oh, of course. God mode. I want red lanterns hanging from all the willow trees."

  Red light erupted from globe lanterns in the trees around the perimeter of the garden. Anya applauded. Even Raymond was taken by surprise, the effect was so magical. He looked at Anya, in the center of it all, the first person to ever see his world, and he wanted as never before to kiss her. She turned to him, started to say something, and cut herself short. Her face softened, and her eyes seemed to come alive with the magic he felt. Her gaze fell on his lips, and he moved toward her, took hold of her, kissed her with confident, loving passion. Her kisses grew more and more intense. She ripped open the snaps of his shirt and stripped it off his chest. He felt her nails drag down his back. He pulled her closer, and they locked in a vigorous, lustful kiss.

  She pushed away, stepped back. He moved after her, but she put a finger up to stop him. She lifted her dress up over her bare breasts, over her head, and tossed it aside. It flew about a foot and then dropped, and Raymond realized it must have hit the wall of the v-chamber. He looked at Anya, standing before him in nothing but lacy panties. An odd, intense mix of dizzy lust, awkwardness, and breathlessness at her beauty left him gaping, dumbstruck. He wondered whether the v-chamber was designed to enhance the beauty of its occupants, or whether she was really that beautiful.

  She moved back in and kissed him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and he felt an exciting visceral distinction between man and woman. He held her closer, ran his strong hands up and down her back, over the flare of her hips. She undid his pants, jerked them down. He shivered. His entire body quivered.

  "Nobody's ever taken my pants off before," he said with a nervous chuckle.

  She seemed to ignore his comment, stooping, kissing his stomach and hips as she descended. He felt like a little boy, standing there with his pants around his ankles. She ran her hands up the backs of his thighs, to the small of his back. He continued to quiver in spasms. She kissed his erect penis, and he felt it pulse full of blood. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing, focused on the feeling of her hand as she slid it between his legs.

  "I'm gonna come," he announced, and he felt the precursor shockwaves of orgasm. He wasn't sure where this was leading, and he didn't want to disappoint Anya by climaxing too soon. "I'm gonna come," he said again, this time more urgently, and he pulled away, trying to stop while there was still any chance of stopping.

  "Raymond, it's okay. Try to relax. There's nothing to worry about—this is for you. I want to do this, for you."

  o-------------------------------o

  Suma, Tony, Anya, and Raymond took a sleepy 3 AM glider flight back to Ann Arbor. Anya slept with her head on Raymond's lap, and he drifted in a state of delirium, petting her head from time to time. They stopped at Anya's apartment first, and Raymond and Anya went in together, no discussion necessary. They slept cuddled together in her bed.

  Raymond awoke with sticky mouth and a blistering headache at 7:17 AM. He wavered into Anya's bathroom and leaned on the counter; turned on the cold water; cupped water in his hands and splashed it on his face; drank from his hands, rinsed his mouth out. He rubbed his temples, massaged the top of his head.

  She gave me a blowjob. I can't believe she gave me a blowjob.

  He made his way back to her bed and sat on the edge. Her face was slack, her mouth open. He brushed her hair away from her eyes, savoring the irony of her peaceful sleep; as she slumbered, forces she had unleashed tore through him, turning his life upside down.

  o-------------------------------o

  He got dressed and lay on her couch, drifting in and out of sleep for about an hour. Still, she showed no sign of waking up. He grabbed his jacket, kissed her forehead, and left. He biked to a coffee shop and texted her as he ate a bowl of oatmeal: "Out to get some breakfast. Thank you for an amazing night."

  His wrist relay went off. It was a message from Scorpio, urgent and very sensitive. Remnants of his fuck-all attitude from the night before drove him to retrieve the message and relay it to his retinal implants, regardless of the security risk of doing this in a public place.

  "One of your lurker-agents in the Illinois State Police network was captured part way through transmission of a critical-priority message. The words 'bone chip' are all that got through."

  Raymond's initial reaction was one of frustration. With one of his lurkers captured, he would have to shut down his police surveillance. He couldn't afford to risk leaving any of his other agents in the field; there was no way they would be able to trace one to him, but if more were caught, they might see a pattern. Then the significance of the message hit him.

  "Bone chip."

  The acrid odor of bone powder overtook him, a potent smell memory, which triggered recall of a day he wished had never happened. He heard again the gruesome, jarring sounds of bone against the gritty grinding stone. He remembered working all afternoon in Tate's basement, grinding the old man's bones, a crucial step in the painstaking disposal process. Every last bone, ground to powder and mixed with fertilizer, for robots to spread over the lush, suburban lawn.

  How could there have been chips? It was all powder.

  Then he remembered—there were chips in the grinder. But he had washed those out—he had worked so hard to clean the grinder, in the utility tub, before the Workbound shuttle came to pick him up.

  The plumbing. What if some chips got stuck in the plumbing?

  Raymond caught himself wandering down a path of conjecture. But what other explanation could there be? Something about bone chips had been entered into the evidence records of the missing person case—he could think of no other reason why his lurker would send a critical message. One of Tate's bone chips must have gotten stuck in the plumbing.

  He pushed his oatmeal away, crossed his arms on the table, and lay his head down. He felt as though he should be thinking things through, planning his next step, but his mind was blank. There was a time when he would have taken this news in stride, merely chastising himself for his mistakes and adjusting his plans accordingly. Now, he found himself immobilized, brought to his knees by an unfamiliar weight: the despair of loss.

  Anya, why can't I make my past go away?

  Chapter 7

  Friday, November 22, 2069

  Raymond stood in his office, his arms crossed and his back against his mini-v, staring at the t
wo-foot-tall holographic beaker on his desk. Its contents, the color and translucency of soy milk, gently bubbled at the surface, wisps of steam curling up and tapering to vanishment. The vaporization rate of this fluid was perfectly synchronized with the passage of time. For each of his remaining days on the project there was a white tick mark on the side of the beaker.

  He created the beaker on the afternoon his release date was announced—October 21, the Friday following the ESW position statement. He hoped it would help him maintain the difficult balance between urgency and level-headedness. Already, the beaker was half empty. He gazed fixedly at the meniscus, smiling slightly at the accidental implication that present time is warped. It was now November 22. His official last day on the project was to be December 20, two days prior to Christmas break, but with Murray on his way to Ann Arbor and the Tate case at risk of being reclassified as a homicide case, Raymond would have to be gone much sooner than that.

  He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to resume a mental scan of his life. He was trying to think of any possible missteps or loose ends that needed cleaning up, but he kept losing concentration.

  "The motor home," he said, more with his lips than his voice. "I was thinking about the motor home."

  The obvious place to start was its v-chamber, just off the tiny bedroom at the rear of the rig. This was where he did most of his personal work. But he had been through it a hundred times. He couldn't bear to dwell on it further. He pictured the bedroom next, as if exiting the v-chamber: the built-in bed, clothing, gadgets, cleaner bots, meaningless personal effects. There were the memory chips he sometimes used to transfer data between work and home, but he had wiped those clean and double- and triple-checked them.

  His mental exploration jumped to the dinette. On the table were his plans for the weeks to come, written out on antique paper, which he intended to burn in a week or two. But it occurred to him that it was cocky to leave the plans out, to assume that his motor home was safe from investigation. As careful as he had been not to reveal the motor home to others, there was always the chance that Murray or the police knew more than he suspected. He would have to take care of those notes.