by Alex P. Berg
And know that I do care for you. I don’t know if you sensed it, but when we first met, I felt we had a connection. I thought a spark existed between us, however small or fleeting it may have been. Perhaps I’m imagining things—despite my appearance, I’m not as experienced in matters of the heart as you might imagine—but that’s how I felt. And that’s why it pains me so much to ask you to stay the path you’re on.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, but if not, know that I’ll always care for you, and that I’m confident you can unravel the mess I unwittingly created for you.
Sincerely,
Valerie
I set the last of the engraved cards on my bedside table. I turned my eyes to the floor, stared at the carpet, and blinked a few times.
You…want me to send a recap to Carl? asked Paige.
“Um…yeah. Sure,” I said.
I sighed. I felt content, relived, and confused all at the same time. Content because it turned out Valerie reciprocated my feelings toward her. I wasn’t crazy! Relieved because Valerie was safe and sound—or at least she had been at the time she’d scratched her letter into the stack of cards. Her writing hadn’t betrayed any hints of distress, and she hadn’t mentioned anything that made me think she might still be in danger. And confused because I still had no idea what my lovely client was talking about for the most part, or what the Diraxi were up to. And what in the world did Valerie mean by her ‘fourth and final clue?’
As I considered the very real possibility that I might never see Valerie again, or cash in on her promised bounty of delectable bear claws, I heard the front door chime.
29
Carl met me at the front, Paige having filled him in on the contents of the message. He flanked me as I instructed Paige to open the door.
The hard plastic barrier winked open, and outside my apartment stood two individuals: one, a Dirax with a distinctive pale blotch on its jaw, and the other, a man in a tailored gray suit with close-cropped brown hair and an air of formality. The latter’s face looked familiar, as if I’d seen him before, but where? I didn’t recall getting a good look at any of the men who’d fought the Veesnu Diraxi in the aftermath of my office’s explosion.
“Well, I know who you are,” I said to the Dirax as I turned my eyes to his buddy. “But you…wait. I know where I’ve seen you. You were in the coffee shop this morning before I stopped by Valerie’s bakery.”
The man in the suit nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m Marshall Douglass. My friend here doesn’t have a given name, which makes introductions difficult, but I call him George and he doesn’t take offense to that.”
I do not care for names, came the Dirax’s voice. But I do understand their importance in a culture where spoken commands may be interpreted by anyone within range of the pressure wave.
“Mind if we come in?” said Marshall.
“Who are you guys?” I asked, my face scrunching up in confusion. “Despite where I first met you, George, I’m assuming you’re not one of the Veesnu chaps. Are you police?”
“Not quite,” said Marshall. “I’m an employee of GenBorn. George is with RAAI Corp.”
That’s when I placed Marshall’s voice. “Hold on. You’re the one who called me. Right before my office exploded.”
The gray-suited one nodded again. “Correct.”
“You want to explain what the hell’s going on?” I asked.
Marshall extended a hand into my apartment’s interior. “I’d love to, but…may we?”
I nodded and let them in, ushering them toward my sitting room. They sat down, as did Carl and I. I could tell my robotic pal felt an urge to offer them something to drink, but I shot him a small, silent shake of my head. Answers first, booze later—depending on the quality of the explanation.
“So,” I said, making myself comfortable on the divan. “Based on who you work for, where I met George, and what I’ve gathered about my own case, I’m going to assume you two are corporate spies.”
“At GenBorn, we refer to my division as the information division,” said Marshall.
“You can call it whatever you want. Industrial espionage, snooping, theft. It’s all the same to me.” I shifted my eyes from Marshall to the Dirax and back, but the pair of cucumbers played it cool, so I gave it to them full force. “Alright. Let’s cut to the chase. Clearly you guys have been keeping tabs on me, and on Valerie. You know something I don’t, and I’m guessing you’re here to share. So tell me…what the hell do GenBorn and RAAI Corp have invested in religiously-driven brainwashing, and how deep is Valerie Meeks involved? How bad off is she?”
I believe you have misinterpreted the specifics of the situation, sent George, and you appear to have a skewed perspective of the parties involved.
“Huh? How so?” I asked.
“The practitioners of Veesnu aren’t involved in any sort of brainwashing,” said Marshall, “and the person you’ve come to know as Valerie Meeks isn’t precisely who you think she is.”
I blinked. “What do you mean? Is she a spy, too? Operating under a pseudonym?”
“Not exactly,” said Marshall.
I ran my tongue over my teeth and gave the dude a look. “If you want me to understand what you’re talking about, you’re going to have to back up and shoot a little straighter.”
How familiar are you with consciousness transfer theory, Mr. Weed? asked the Dirax.
“Is that a thing?” I said.
It is. You are a recipient of proprietary GenBorn rejuvenative services, are you not? Have you ever considered why such a thing is necessary? Why not exist in a separate form altogether? Your kind has already developed the technology to create sentient systems that exist in perpetuity.
“You’re talking about androids,” I said. “Like Carl.”
Correct. Would it not be beneficial to exist in synthetic form? This is the crux at the core of consciousness transfer theory. It has been a topic of discussion among scientists of numerous species for millennia, but has never been fully realized, primarily because none of us, my species included, have ever been fully able to understand what sparks the creation of a consciousness, much less how to transfer one from an organic to a synthetic mind. But this has not prevented parties from the attempt.
I recalled a discussion I’d had with the sash-clad Veesnu priest as he’d shown me to the sermon. I’d asked about a term he and others had mentioned repeatedly, the Ascension, and he’d said it was a religious test to unleash the spirit and free it to a nebulous, timeless state. It is a journey of the mind, he’d said. I’d assumed he’d meant it in the figurative sense, but what if he’d meant it literally?
“Wait.” I leaned forward, my brain lingering on the cusp of something important. “Are you suggesting the Valerie I’ve come to know…is an android?”
“Yes,” said Marshall. “But what George told you is true. No one has ever been able to fully realize the transfer of a consciousness from an organic mind to a synthetic one, and that statement remains true to this day.”
I took a deep breath and settled back into my chair. Valerie? An android? My mind raced in a million different directions all at once, but I forced myself to exude at least a measure of composure. “I’m still confused.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Marshall. “I’ll try to help you through it. You see, the Diraxi have been working on consciousness transfer methods for a long time. I’ve been following the subject indirectly for years—George almost as long—but that’s only a fraction of the amount of time the Diraxi have committed to the subject. All the leaders in the fields of neural mapping and interconnectivity are Diraxi, and many of them are also believers in Veesnu, as you might suspect given the tenets of the religion.”
Much respected research is being performed by my kind on this subject, sent George. But even the most knowledgeable members of the community readily admit consciousness transfer is still not possible given current understandings of science. This is why it was so surprising when we disco
vered rumors of a breakthrough originating from the local practitioners of Veesnu, none of which are renowned scientists, but many of which are known as zealous extremists. At the time, my colleagues and I were investigating reports of unlawful importations of android frames, a clear patent infringement. But those reports also mentioned physical modifications of the frames to make them more similar to local physiologies. Between those two pieces of information, the dots became connected, as the saying goes.
“George infiltrated the local Veesnu branch to discover what was going on,” said Marshall, “but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t uncover the new breakthrough that had supposedly been made. As we investigated on our separate ends, the Veesnu increased recruiting, luring people with promises of Ascension, one of which was Valerie Meeks. Then George found something.”
I discovered references in the local Veesnu servenet to immersion rates and neural fluxes. These are terms typically associated with activation of a blank cybernetic android mind to a state of consciousness. At this point, we had a suspicion as to the Veesnu believers’ plans, but we had to confirm them.
“Which we did, when the Veesnu Diraxi attempted to implant Valerie Meeks’ consciousness over that of a blank cybernetic host as it was being activated,” said Marshall. “This subject’s been proposed in scientific literature but never tried for ethical reasons. The theory is such a procedure would result in the transfer of memories, personality traits, emotional biases and the like, but not actually a transfer of consciousness. Instead, it would merely affect the creation of the new cybernetic consciousness, creating a clone, if you will, while leaving the original consciousness intact in its organic host.”
This is precisely what happened with Miss Meeks, sent George. She was sedated and placed in a neural scanner—one of the white machines near which I found you at the church. An unactivated android designed to mimic her was brought in and a consciousness transfer was attempted, but a delay in the imprinting of Miss Meeks’ mind over the blank canvas caused the Diraxi engineers to think the process was unsuccessful. However, the mind did imprint. It merely took time for the new cybernetic mind to adjust to the situation—which was a precarious one. The new android Valerie came to as the original Miss Meeks was being wheeled out of the room, still sedated but clearly alive and well. However, the android Valerie believed she was the original. To see herself laying there was a shock. Frightened and confused, she fled and escaped the facility.
“This is roughly where you come in, Mr. Weed,” said Marshall. “Shortly after her escape from the transfer facility, the new android Valerie Meeks sought you out. But to understand her actions, you have to understand she wasn’t the same as her organic counterpart. The new Valerie had the same memories and personality as the original, but this essence, if you will, was imprinted over a stock RAAI Corp cybernetic brain, one designed for compassion, intelligence, and infused with the standard decision-making algorithms all androids have, including your friend here.” Marshall pointed to Carl. “The android Valerie saw herself as an individual, but she also possessed a strong desire to protect the original Valerie, who she saw as her owner, from physical and emotional harm.
“She reasoned, quite logically, that the Veesnu practitioners’ plan wasn’t to transfer the original Valerie’s consciousness, but to copy it to her, the clone, and convince her the transfer had occurred, making her feel as if she’d ascended. But to make the story convincing, a loose end would have to be tied.”
The original Valerie would have to die, sent George.
“Exactly,” said Marshall. “And the new Valerie couldn’t have that. She felt a driving need to warn the organic Valerie that her life was in danger, but she feared by confronting her, she’d risk serious emotional damage to her owner, not only from seeing her own cybernetic clone and knowing the transfer had failed, but also in revealing the intents of the religious mentors in which she’d believed and trusted. She considered going to the police, but again her desire to protect the original Valerie from emotional harm impeded her. She knew that by involving the police and telling them the truth, the Veesnu consciousness transfer scheme would become public, and Valerie would become the poster child for the entire mess.”
George flicked his antennae at me. The synthetic Valerie decided the best course of action, the one that would ideally protect her owner’s physical and emotional well-being the fullest, was for an unassociated third party to discover the scheme of their own accord and put a stop to it. That way, Valerie’s life would be saved, and the emotional turmoil upon her would be minimized because she would not see the downfall of her church as stemming from her actions, especially if she never found out about the existence of her clone.
I took another deep breath and dug my fingers into my temple as I tried to process everything I’d been told. “And I, of course, am the unassociated third party. All the clues Valerie—err, I mean, android Valerie—left me were so I’d discover the consciousness transfer scheme and reveal it for what it was worth.”
“That’s right,” said Marshall. “But android Valerie made a couple miscalculations. The first was in thinking she needed your assistance in uncovering the scheme at all. She had no idea we—” He jerked his thumb between George and himself. “—were already involved. And she sorely underestimated how quickly relations between you and the Veesnu Diraxi would deteriorate, something we didn’t take into account, either. I suppose none of us realized just how fanatical the Cetie sect of Veesnu believers is. We didn’t anticipate they’d plant a bomb in your office and attempt to kill you simply to keep their scheme under wraps.”
Thoughts and concerns swirled in my head like a churning maelstrom, and I briefly wondered if the doctors at Pylon Alpha General hadn’t been wrong in clearing me of a concussion diagnosis. “Do you, uh…mind if I ask you two a few questions?”
“By all means,” said Marshall. “We’ll answer if we can.”
“The break-in that occurred yesterday at Valerie’s apartment,” I said. “That was the Diraxi?”
Marshall nodded. “They began pursuing the android Valerie as soon as she escaped, but she was hard to find, even for individuals with, should we say, special talents and limited qualms about breaking the law.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Android Valerie is an illicit droid, one activated outside the jurisdiction of RAAI Corp, sent George. She was not connected to the servenets. If she were, she could have been tracked. Likely, the Veesnu planned to transfer the real Valerie’s Brain connection to her to keep the android’s presence hidden from authorities.
I recalled the scrawled message in the cardslips upstairs. I wish I could communicate with you directly via more modern methods, but, for reasons I’d still rather not discuss, I was, and still am, simply unable to do so. It explained so much. Why Valerie had always shown up to speak with me in person. Why she’d knocked instead of using the Brain activated chimes. And, of course, why she’d never answered my Brain calls—because I’d been calling the real Valerie, who didn’t know me. Which reminded me…
“The real Valerie Meeks,” I said. “What’s she been up to these past couple days?”
“She’s spent most of her time at the Veesnu chapel, relaxing and recuperating,” said Marshall. “Though she made a trip to her bakery yesterday—”
“—afternoon,” I finished. “Of course.”
The one interaction with Valerie that didn’t add up. That’s why she acted the way she did. She didn’t lie to me. She didn’t forget me. She’d never met me at all. Every other interaction I’d had with Val had been with the android version of her, who I’d believed to be the real Valerie. Those were the interactions with the sweet, tender, caring Valerie—the Valerie, I realized, that was predisposed to like me due to the same subliminal algorithms that made Carl care so deeply for me.
Our connection, the spark Valerie had mentioned in the missive on the cardslips, was a lie, forced on her by her cybernetic brain. I swallowed back my pri
de and continued. “Ok. Moving on to today. Who broke into my office?”
“What do you mean?” asked Marshall. “The Diraxi from the church did. They planted the bomb.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” I said. “You know what I mean. Earlier in the day.”
Marshall and George shared a look, and George responded. You should be grateful for that. If we had not bugged your office, we would not have known when my brethren planted the explosive. Our surveillance saved your life.
“Is that all I should be grateful for?” I asked.
“Pardon?” said Marshall.
“A while ago, when I left the police station,” I said. “The sergeant wanted to eat me alive. At least he did—until he got a call. I don’t suppose you two had anything to do with that.”
Our employers have deep pockets, sent George, his antennae flickering, and are active contributors in both tax revenues and campaign contributions. The local arms of GenBorn and RAAI Corp would like to keep this series of events quiet. Which brings us to one of the primary reasons we have called upon you. We are willing to offer substantial compensation in SEUs in exchange for your silence on this matter.
“Save it,” I said. “You guys saved my life, and kept me out of jail. I don’t need your money. But I do have one more question I need answered.”
“Ask it,” said Marshall.
“How do you know all this?” I asked. “And I don’t mean the stuff you garnered through surveillance. I’m talking about the stuff you know about Valerie. How she felt, why she ran, why she contacted me. That.”
I anticipated the answer before it left the gray-suited man’s lips. “Because she’s in our custody. She told us everything.”
I ground my teeth as I posed my next question. “So what happens to her now?”
“Nothing adverse, if that’s your concern,” said Marshall. “We found her, talked to her, and convinced her the best course of action was for her to join GenBorn and put her unique, hands-on knowledge of memory transfer to good use by helping us research methods that may some day facilitate true consciousness transfer between sentient minds.”