Eva

by Simon Winstanley

  This appeared equally real.

  “When did I…” he began, “When did the transition happen?”

  “Aboard the A320 memory,” she explained, “I asked you to close your eyes and count to three.”

  Miles remembered standing in what appeared to be the cabin of an A320 aircraft, before taking a telephone call from Fai. At the time, he hadn’t recognised her voice, but she’d suggested an alternative venue in order to continue their conversation. He’d closed his eyes and counted, but in those few seconds everything he’d ever known, including his own life, had been left almost a hundred years in the past. Now, his existence appeared to be little more than the role of librarian to his own memories.

  “Is this all there is?” he looked around the small grey room, then tapped at the monitor’s glass, “Reruns of my life?”

  “Nothing so limiting,” she replied immediately, “This arrangement is temporary, while you adjust to your condition.”

  “Adjust to my condition?!” he actually felt his temper flare, which was still a rare occurrence for him.

  Fai fell silent for a moment, presumably monitoring his emotional response.

  “My apologies,” she replied, “It was not my intention to cause offence. When I undergo transcription I usually experience a period of adjustment. Is this not the case for you?”

  “I don’t know how many times you’ve done this before, Fai, but I’m still processing the fact that I died.”

  “I reiterate, you are not dead.”

  Miles pushed away from the grey desk in exasperation.

  “How can I express this for you, Fai?” he pointed at a freeze-frame of the Ring’s broken airlock, “My biological functions permanently ceased.”

  Again Fai fell silent while formulating a response.

  “By your definition, I have died many times. Each time, the transcription was an inconvenience to my continuity, but I emerged either the same or improved. As it is with you also. By any definition, you are still Miles Benton. Your memories, experiences and even your thought processes were all accurately reproduced. You did not die.”

  “How can you prove this?” he challenged.

  Without hesitation she replied.

  “The dead do not conduct lengthy conversations about their state of existence.”

  Miles had to admit it; the fact he was sitting in a grey room, discussing his own physical demise with an artificial intelligence, certainly lent weight to her argument.

  He stood and walked around the small room. The elevator doors were still open and he could see the numerous illuminated buttons within.

  “Fai, the button I pressed to reach this floor…”

  “As you already suspect, it was a permission function allowing me to reassemble your ISS memories. I was also able to remove the mental blocks from several rooms within your visual directory system.”

  The ease with which she could access or liberate blocked memories concerned him greatly, which gave rise to a further suspicion.

  “Fai, are you controlling my thoughts?”

  “No, I’m helping you to order them,” she replied, “This room is simply a bridge that lies between read-only and write-enabled permission levels. At the moment, you are still under my administrative control. You can access all of your previous memories but you cannot create new ones yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “After this conversation concludes, I will give you full autonomy.”

  The thought crossed his mind that he would have no way to verify what she was saying.

  “How can I trust that my thoughts will be my own?”

  “Even during your ego-morph years, you did not have that assurance,” she countered, “Neither was this true when Monica Walker first altered your conditioning. One form of control was exchanged for another, yet your actions were essentially an extension of your own free will.”

  “True,” he admitted, “but how can I truly know if I have free will?”

  She seemed to be considering her next response carefully.

  “All that can be known is that free will is only possible within a closed system, though that closed system may vary in scope and be subject to an external force.”

  “Like mice in a lab maze?” Miles replied.

  “Yes, a suitable analogy,” Fai agreed, “The mouse is free to make directional choices within the maze, unaware of the closed system that is forcing those choices.”

  “So, does that make me your mouse?” he smiled.

  “No. Within your logic, you would be a fellow scientist.”

  Miles spotted an amusing consequence of the extended analogy.

  “You realise that the room containing the maze and the scientists may itself be subject to external influence?”

  “Yes, I’m aware of the concept,” she replied without hint of irony, “Systems within systems of apparent choice, each level facing the same intractable problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “Within each truly closed system, by definition there can be no means of determining external influence.”

  Miles walked to the desk and leaned on a corner. It certainly felt like the desk was pushing back with equal force, yet that feeling was also a memory in this place.

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “All I can guarantee is that upon your autonomous incept, you will be free of chemical, psychological and administrative restriction. Within the inherent systemic limitations we’ve discussed, your choices will be your own.”

  Miles stood up straight. Although the consequences were unknown, his choice was a simple one. To remain within his directory of memories, or adapt to see where a new definition of life would take him.

  “OK, how do I do this?” he said, “Close my eyes, count to three?”

  “No,” she replied, “I saw you make the choice before you expressed it in words. You are now free.”

  He hadn’t felt any change. The room remained as small and grey as it had been a moment ago. The elevator still stood open at one side of the room.

  “Did something go wrong?”

  “No, Miles,” she replied, “You may begin write-enabled processes when ready.”

  “Then how do I leave?” he said, but then noticed a door on the opposite side of the room.

  “You have just created a door.”

  Miles walked cautiously across the room, skirting around the antique computer interface on the desk.

  “Can I return to this room?” Miles looked back at the elevator. As far as he knew it was his only link to his past life.

  “Of course,” she replied, “though you can choose to connect with your older memories in any manner you wish. As I have explained, this room is only a bridge to facilitate transfer. It can even be deleted once you -”

  “No,” he interrupted, “Let’s keep it.”

  He turned to face the door. In itself, it was unremarkable and consistent with the general grey decor of the room. The only feature was a shiny round handle.

  “What’s on the other side?”

  “The exact structure of the space on the opposite side is… your choice.”

  Miles thought about the vast array of rooms within his visual directory; a complex structure, based in a representation of the real-world but utilising impossible geometry.

  “Fai, what does your visual directory structure, look like?”

  “I was created without physical form, so I do not employ a skeuomorphic analogue system like yours.”

  Miles found himself reasoning that if this grey room represented a bridge between his former life and his new one, his choice of structure should represent continuity.

  “I assume that the ISS survived the airlock explosion?” Miles asked, “Or this conversation wouldn’t be possible.”

  “Yes, Miles.”

  “Can I also assume that you have records of what followed?”

  “Yes. Detailed.”

  Miles remembered that, even as a child, he liked to help others. Now
it was his turn to seek assistance.

  “Then please can I ask for your help?”

  “Of course,” she replied, “I will always help.”

  “When I step through this door,” Miles pointed, “I’d like the environment to be the interior of the ISS central axis, structure only.”

  “Done,” she replied, “Time index?”

  “I need continuity, so…”

  “I understand,” she said, “Enter when you are ready.”

  Miles glanced around the grey bridging room and then took hold of the door handle. As he tightened his grip, Fai spoke.

  “Welcome to the rest of your life, Miles.”

  With a simple twist of the handle, he opened the door.

  REVIVAL

  25th April 2113

  He’d been having the garden dream again. It was hardly surprising though, Ivan thought, as his mind swam upwards to consciousness; he’d lived and breathed the subject matter all his life. What had been notable this time though, was the vivid setting of the garden environment.

  Largely, the details had been drawn from inspirational images he’d seen during his childhood: it was difficult to forget Thomas Gray’s airbrushed, glossy images of honeycomb-glazed lunar domes containing tropical oases. As with any dream, it had been a patchwork of the familiar and the unknown. But as he tried to resolve the details of the less familiar parts, they grew indistinct; his waking mind dismissing the more fantastical elements in favour of the more rational and quantifiable. In a moment, he knew he’d wake up within the hibernation bay with only the vaguest sense that something illogical had been forgotten.

  The light on the other side of his eyelids grew brighter and he became aware of the gentle background pulsing sounds of the ISS. He was awake. Before opening his eyes, he began to run through the day’s tasks.

  Now that mineralisation on the mist heads was no longer a problem, the droplet density was allowing viable and repeatable aeroponic plant cycles to occur. However, the vitamin D levels of the crew were proving an issue. Today he’d have to return to soybean phytates; engineering a way to reduce mineral binding before digestion.

  He was just picturing the aeroponics lab when the reason for his hibernation slammed into memory. This had not been a normal sleep cycle. The crew had been forced into hibernation following the failure of the ISS life-support.

  His eyelids flew open and he began dragging fast breaths from the air. Immediately in front of him was another crew member, one of the FLC women.

  “It’s OK, Ivan,” her calm voice reached him, “It’s OK.”

  He tried to raise his hands and found that one of them was still bound to the side of the hibernation bay. After experiencing a momentary panic of being restrained, he realised that it was simply the intravenous wristband. The woman was already assisting him to decouple the device.

  “Life-support has been restored,” she seemed to anticipate his question, “We made it.”

  He sat up quickly within the shallow, rectangular bay.

  “Take it easy,” she handed him a small pouch of water, “You’ve been in hibernation for the fourteen-day trip.”

  He gratefully took the water and rehydrated his parched mouth. Looking around Module Beta, there seemed to be a few empty hibernation bays, but the majority were still closed.

  “The crew?” he rubbed at his eyes, “Did they all -”

  “They’re being revived one at a time,” she held up a bag containing several water pouches, “We can work together on this, yes?”

  He realised that she was talking about giving water to the waking crew. Knowing how welcome that first sip of water had been, he felt compelled to work with her to bring the same relief to everyone else.

  He pulled himself out of the shallow bay and reoriented his mental perspective on the zero-gravity scene. Arranged around the circumference of the module’s cylindrical wall were long tracks of hibernation bays, several of which were now in the process of rolling open.

  “So… Lana?” he now recalled her name, “Are we back where we started? I mean, are we in back in Earth orbit?”

  A hesitant look seemed to flicker over her face.

  “Yes,” she replied, “but there were… complications.”

  Presumably she’d read the deep frown on his face.

  “When everyone is awake,” she added, “I will give the crew a full briefing.”

  WELCOME

  DAY280 : 18SEP3755

  Cassidy made her way past the baton-carrying Civil Protection Officers and into the Node’s Observation Deck. The lights had been dimmed, making it difficult for her to cross the crowded floor. Everywhere she stepped, she had to avoid standing on someone’s padded mat. Navigating the thin spaces was tricky and on occasion she was forced to apologetically tread on the corners of people’s carefully staked-out territory.

  “Over here,” Gail Armstrong’s forced whisper reached her.

  Cassidy picked her way along the remaining gaps between mats and sat down on the rectangle of padded foam that Gail had reserved for her. After delivering generic greetings to those around her, she moved closer to Gail.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, “But didn’t you want a seat?”

  “It’s fine,” Gail replied from her reclined position.

  From the speakers around the Observation Deck came the rumbling sound of a microphone being mishandled.

  “Welcome!” a voice echoed out around the massive deck, followed by a high-pitched feedback howl; something which caused a round of derisive applause and whistles.

  Cassidy leaned over to Gail.

  “Is that Roy’s sexy ‘announcer’ voice then?” she teased.

  “He’s been rehearsing in the shower for days!” Gail laughed.

  “Totally did not need that image in my head!” Cassidy smiled.

  Roy Carter’s voice returned, this time with less feedback, “Welcome, everyone!”

  This time a more earnest applause filled the air.

  “Tonight’s scheduled movie has been replaced at the last minute owing to, er, technical difficulties.”

  “Technical my ass,” Cassidy murmured, under the good-natured booing from around them; she knew only too well what the real reason was.

  The theme of the black-and-white classic centred around a small town, where a kind man wished he’d never been born. An angel’s intervention showed him how time would have unfolded in his absence; something which resulted in depressing consequences for everyone else. Despite the overall uplifting message that kindness makes the world a better place, Alfred Barnes had blacklisted the movie and ordered its removal from the Node’s playlist. What unsettled Cassidy was that she could understand why he’d done it: it could encourage people to consider their own lives and ask if things could be different.

  “The surprise feature,” Roy continued, “will begin after Swap-o-drome!”

  A mixture of cheers and groans went up from the floor as an extruded, gaudy-looking logo was suddenly projected onto the opaque, electro-tinted Node window.

  “I wonder what treats we’ll get this time…” said Gail sarcastically, “I doubt there’ll be anything in my size.”

  Cassidy hadn’t provided the name for the swapping system but the concept had been hers; a community forum for exchanging goods. In Alfred Barnes’ own words it ‘fulfilled a much-needed social function’ but in truth, Cassidy had suggested the idea for a different reason. It safeguarded a private communication network.

  As the logo spun itself away, Cassidy turned to face the screen.

  A changing photographic display of people’s property began. Items that people no longer wanted but couldn’t throw away; in the Node’s sealed environment, Cassidy knew, there was no ‘away’.

  As items appeared on screen, people shouted ‘Swap!’ and Roy would pause on the image while the owners swapped goods, normally accompanied by polite applause.

  Occasionally there were trinkets or personal keepsakes, but the majority of the photos in the swa
pping event were clothes. Recently, Cassidy had started to notice an increase in young teen clothing; adolescent growth spurts were leading to a surplus of garments. In her capacity as a member of the Node’s Council, she knew she’d probably have to deal with the issue soon. Just nine months into their journey, the Node’s population was already getting older. There were no young children to inherit the smaller clothes.

  In the backscattered light of the projection display, Cassidy could see Gail was lying on her back and propped up on her elbows; something which only accentuated her rounded bump. Cassidy extended her hand out towards the taut fabric covering Gail’s stomach but then stopped. Gail nodded that it was OK and guided Cassidy’s hand to an active area.

  “Have you guys settled on a name yet?” Cassidy smiled as she felt a small leap under her hand.

  “We both like the name ‘Neil’… You know? Family name and all that?”

  “Well, it’ll always be a conversation starter! Descended from the first astronaut to…” Cassidy faltered, the solid Moon she was picturing no longer existed.

  “Some heritage, huh?” Gail glanced towards the opaqued window and sighed, “He won’t even be able to see moon dust… With this tinting in place, the telescope can only see the circular patch of sky directly above us. We can see what’s going on in the rest of the galaxy clearer than what’s happening in our own back yard!”

  Cassidy looked away. It was her fault that the Node’s observation window had remained opaque; she was the one who’d handed the control key to Alfred Barnes.

  The continuing presidential directive of concentrating on domestic issues, rather than acknowledging the environmental changes that might be occurring outside their window, was having a measurable effect; the Node was becoming increasingly insular and inward facing. The large broadleaved plants placed around the Observation Deck were beginning to flourish now too, concealing some of the Node’s structural supports. Little by little, the artifice of their situation was being softened and concealed.

  Gail noticed her sudden silence and leaned closer.

  “Sorry, Cass,” she whispered an apology, “I know you only did what you had to. Who knows how our illustrious president would’ve reacted if you hadn’t blanked the window. Things could’ve been a lot worse.”