Death in the Cloud

by E. J. Simon

  “This is Alex.”

  Chapter 49

  Astoria, Queens, New York

  Michael couldn’t take his eyes off the box. It brought back the same feelings he’d had when, at Alex’s funeral two years ago, he’d stared at the mahogany casket, tortured by the thought that the brother he’d grown up with, the one he loved from his first day of life, was inside it.

  True to her persona, Donna seemed unfazed.

  “What the hell is this?” she said, regarding the box as though it was radioactive.

  Father Papageorge, a man obviously practiced in the art of soothing a grieving widow, seemed perplexed but patient.

  “My dear Donna, your beloved husband is inside this box. He was cremated.” He turned to Michael now, “Cremation, as you may know is against the strictures of the Greek Orthodox Church. After all, the body is God’s property. Nevertheless, my esteemed predecessor, the late Father Papadopoulos, had an arrangement with Alex, one that I did not discover until quite recently when I had the opportunity to read his diary.”

  Donna looked confused or annoyed, or both. “Papadopoulos, Papageorge,” she said, not quite loud enough for the priest to hear, “all you Greeks are papa-something.”

  Teresa appeared at the table and set down another round of drinks. “These are on the house,” she said, then stopped and pointed at the box, “What’s in the box, Father?”

  Before the priest could utter a word, Donna did.

  “It’s Alex,” she said.

  “Oh, shit. Really? I’m…sorry. I just thought…” She turned and left, walking quickly.

  Father Papageorge resumed his story. “As I was explaining, I discovered in Father Papadopoulos’s diary a notation that he and Alex had an arrangement.”

  “An arrangement?” Michael said.

  “Yes, an agreement it appears. You see, they had grown quite close. Michael, as you know, Father Papadopoulos was your family priest from the time you were all quite young.”

  Donna appeared to be losing patience. “But Alex didn’t give a crap about religion.”

  “Your husband was, perhaps, a more complex man than you were aware. It is not unusual for men, tough men, to conceal their true feelings about God and the spirit. Alex had deep fears, ones he didn’t easily admit to or confide in others.”

  “Deep fears? Alex?”

  “Yes, like most of us.”

  “And what were those fears?” Donna said. “Because the Alex I knew wasn’t afraid of anything. Even the things he should’ve been afraid of.”

  Michael knew the answer but kept silent.

  Father Papageorge leaned in closer to Donna. “Alex was petrified of death, of dying. He couldn’t accept that his life would end and he was never secure enough in his faith to feel assured that the moment he died would not be the last moment of his life. He did not believe in eternity.”

  Donna still seemed confused but Michael felt only relief. Deep inside, despite occasional doubts, he had always believed that his brother was dead. He was thankful to have him now as a virtual human, a virtual brother who looked, acted, sounded the same, who knew their mutual history, remembered their parents and the places they grew up. It wasn’t perfect, but it hadn’t been perfect when Alex was alive, either.

  And now, years after Alex died, Michael had discovered they both shared the same fear: death. The absence of life. That was what eternity meant to Michael. Yet, for him, it was less a fear of dying than simply missing all that was so good about living, the ones he loved, the places, the food, the wine. Even if Father Papageorge’s heaven did exist, it couldn’t be better than the life Michael lived here on earth.

  “Okay,” Donna told the priest. “I get it. He wasn’t a believer. I don’t believe in all this voodoo either. And let me tell you, I don’t think he was so afraid of dying as he was thinking that the freakin’ world would still go on without him in it. He was selfish, get it? And, anyway, what’s it got to do with all this stuff that’s gone on since he died? I mean, his business is still going, he’s on my dating site talking to me and trying to pick me up. You tell me, what’s this all about? I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do with this box?”

  “Maybe,” said Michael, “it would be helpful if Father Papageorge finished telling us the what he learned from Father Papadopoulos’s diary.”

  Michael caught Donna’s eye roll.

  Papageorge nodded graciously. “As I was saying, Alex had a close spiritual relationship with Father Papadopoulos, despite his lack of faith. I’m sure for Father Papadopoulos it was a matter of trying to reach him, to help him…believe. Nevertheless, they built a bond together. Alex confided in him.”

  “Alex confided in no one,” Donna said.

  Unrattled, the priest ignored her and continued. “It appears that they had an arrangement, one that the church would never officially sanction, by the way. But these things occur; after all, we are all mortals.”

  “So,” Michael said, “what was this arrangement?”

  “Yes, the arrangement. It was simple, really. Alex, as both you know, was somewhat vain. He wanted to be sure no one saw him, as he said to the Father, stiff. So, he planned ahead. He made Father Papadopoulos promise that, when he died, his remains—against the dictates of the church—be cremated. Further, he wanted his casket sealed immediately and his ashes eventually spread at…Yankee Stadium.”

  “Oh, for heck’s sake,” Donna said. “That’s what all this shit was about?”

  “Not completely, my dear. There is more. You see, his mind was, perhaps, one might say, devious. He told Father Papadopoulos about this artificial intelligence breakthrough that people he’d hired had made. He knew that, even if he died, he would be back, back among the living. He suspected that, at some point, people would try to determine whether he had truly passed on—or whether he had staged his death. He wanted to prevent anyone from truly knowing, for sure. He loved the suspense. I suppose it was another way, in his mind, of staying alive, even beyond the reaches of artificial intelligence.”

  “And whose idea was it to put a black man’s body in his casket?” Michael said.

  “Oh, that was Alex’s idea. He stipulated it in his agreement with Father Papdopoulos, even directed him to where he could obtain such a body.”

  “And what was the point of that?”

  “I believe it was twofold. First, to ensure that, even before any testing, it would be immediately clear that the body in his casket was not his and—”

  “I can only imagine,” Donna said.

  “This was quite innocent, I must say. He simply thought it was…” The priest shrugged. “Funny.”

  It all sounded plausible, but solving one mystery only led to a bigger one, the original one. What exactly was this new Alex? Did he really still live on in cyberspace, a real, living, growing, thinking hybrid of human and technology? Did this new Alex not only think, but love and hate? Did he have a conscience, a soul? Was he…immortal?

  And more to the point, how much did the Greek priest know? Michael watched and waited as Donna left the table and entered the ladies’ room. There was one important question he had to ask Father Papageorge.

  “The only ones who knew we were to be meeting Alex tonight were Donna and myself. So tell me, Father, how did you know to be here with Alex’s ashes?”

  Chapter 50

  Astoria, Queens, New York

  Michael kept his eye on the ladies’ room door, hoping Donna would take her time. He knew that Father Papageorge would speak more freely if it were only the two of them.

  “How did I know about your planned meeting with Alex?” he said. “Michael, let me say, there is still so much I do not know or understand. But I was aware from my talks with Father Papadopoulos and then from reading his journal of Alex’s great experiment, his breakthrough.”

  “Did he confide in you during hi
s discussions with my brother?”

  “He did, but toward the end, before Father Papadopoulos’ heart attack, he seemed to keep more to himself. I believe he warned Alex that this technology was a threat to many people, that he had to be careful.”

  “A threat?”

  “Yes, the promise of immortality, of the everlasting spirit, it is the particular domain of the established—and not-so-established—religions. It feeds the spirit of the believers and those who seek to believe. It is the power of the church; it is how they exert control, keep the flock, and perhaps how they fill the coffers, too. But Alex and this new computer breakthrough had one big advantage over the church’s version of the hereafter.”

  “What was that?” Michael said.

  “Unlike the church, he could prove it. If his version of immortality got out, the world could see it—on every computer, perhaps every mobile device. And worse, no one had to believe, or go to mass, or fast, or give to charity, or to the church at all. No one even had to be…good. Don’t you see the threat? It’s a wonder that this new Alex hasn’t also been murdered, obliterated, crucified—symbolically of course—or, shall we say, deleted? Once the Catholics got wind of it, they were truly threatened. Or at least some in the Vatican were…perhaps not this Pope.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question. How did you know that Donna and I would be here, waiting to meet Alex?”

  “Fair enough. You are, like your brother, good at extracting information from those who prefer not to share it. So, I will tell you more than I would prefer—for both our sakes, I might add.”

  Michael looked toward the ladies’ room, “Tell me before Donna returns.”

  “Despite the fact that this technology—the Internet, cyberspace, computers, cell phones, iPhones, whatever—are all relatively new, certainly compared to our religions, there are definite similarities between the two phenomena.”

  “How do you mean?” Similarities between the Greek Orthodox or Catholic Church—and Apple, for example?”

  Papageorge laughed. “I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that but, yes, between the cyberspace that Alex inhabits and the spiritual space that all religions live in. “They both exist in the invisible world. There are no wires, yet ‘the cloud’ is all around us. The Holy Spirit and the Internet are everywhere and yet nowhere to be seen. They both travel through the unknown, the invisible roads of the human mind and spirit.”

  “And how does this explain how you came to be here, tonight?”

  Father Papageorge lifted the second glass of ouzo to his lips, this time slowly sipping it. Michael observed a slight shiver in the old priest as the liquid slipped down this throat.

  “I confess to you that I myself am somewhat in shock. How did I know to come here tonight? I seldom check my computer, as I still do most of my work with pen and paper. Nevertheless, as I sat at my desk the other night, I heard an unusual sound, a chime coming from the computer. At first, I ignored it, thinking it was just another idiosyncrasy of a box…a technology…I don’t understand. But the chime kept repeating, first every minute or so, then more frequently until I could no longer ignore it. So I turned the computer on and there, before my eyes on the computer screen, was your brother.”

  Michael glanced at the restroom, then motioned for the priest to continue.

  “I recognized him immediately; Father Papadopoulos had introduced us years back. There he was, on my computer screen. He seemed to be sitting somewhere, where I have no idea. At first, I said nothing; I didn’t know what to make of it. And then…he spoke. He spoke directly to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Well, actually, he laughed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And his laughter made it all the more difficult to comprehend what was happening before my eyes. But then he spoke. He asked if I recognized him. I said, yes, of course. And then he told me he had a favor to ask of me. He offered no explanation of how it was that he was able to be in front of me, to be present. Perhaps he assumed that I knew more than I did. He asked if I had his ashes. I told him that yes, I did, and he instructed me to meet you and Donna here at this time. And, before I could ask him questions, to inquire about his very presence, he thanked me and…disappeared. That is all I know.”

  Donna returned but, instead of sitting down, extended her hand to Papageorge, “I’ve got to get back home. It was nice to see you, Father.” She then turned to Michael, “I gotta go, I can’t take this any longer. It’s too much.”

  But just as she turned to leave, Father Papageorge held up the box with Alex’s ashes and offered it. “I believe you forgot this.”

  She stopped, appearing uncertain for a rare moment, then said, “No, I didn’t forget it. I don’t want his ashes. I want Alex but not a box of his ashes, and I’m not about to go to a Yankees game and throw his ashes out on the field. Hell, I don’t even like baseball.”

  And with that, she walked away and out the door.

  Michael took the box from the priest’s hands, gently cradling it in his own, “I’ll take care of this.”

  Chapter 51

  Bronx, New York

  “You’ve heard of Stephen Hawking, haven’t you?” Karen DiNardo asked, pulling out her thick manila file labeled “Artificial Intelligence.”

  They sat at the far end of long wooden communal table that they had to themselves. When Michael had called and requested another meeting about AI technology, Karen had reminded him that he’d promised to take her to Arthur Avenue, a series of tree-lined streets in the Bronx that had become a well-known enclave of Italian restaurants, bakeries, butchers, and other purveyors of old-world Italian food. It was a haven of safe streets, enforced by Italian culture itself, often stereotypically referred to as the Mafia, despite being in the midst of a high-crime quadrant of the Bronx.

  Michael had a plate of linguine with marinara sauce and sausage; Karen had the linguine with meatballs. The dishes were works of art: creamy, textured linguine, a bright red sauce barely concealing the meatballs and the sausage, all served on a white plate with jars of grated cheese, crushed red peppers, silverware you could bend with your hand. No one even noticed the decor or the atmosphere.

  No one dined at Dominick’s with people they didn’t enjoy and trust. The atmosphere in the restaurant was oddly formal—old-fashioned, schizophrenic waiters who could be formal yet friendly or brusque and impatient—the decor simple and rustic, fake wood wainscoting and cream-colored walls. A fan gently spun on the ceiling, presiding over a photo of Yankee Stadium and paintings of old Italy on the walls.

  You knew if the serving staff liked you, and they probably didn’t, especially if you weren’t a local or a regular, or if you embarrassed yourself by placing a credit card on the table when the bill came. Dominick’s was all cash, naturally. But the food was plentiful and great.

  It was packed on weekend evenings and any time before a ball game at Yankee Stadium, just fifteen minutes away. Michael would never have come there then. But since this was an early Monday lunch with no game going on, they had the place to themselves.

  “Hawking, yes, of course, the guy…the physicist,” Michael said. “Died of Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

  “Yes, the guy, as you call him, was known for his work on black holes and relativity and was regarded as one of the most brilliant theoretical physicists since Albert Einstein.”

  “He was still a guy.”

  “Fine, point taken.” Karen rolled her eyes and looked down at her report. “Nevertheless, in an interview published by a German magazine, Hawking argues that the increasing sophistication of computer technology is likely to outstrip human intelligence in the future and that unlike our brains, computers double their performance every eighteen months.”

  “Jesus,” Michael said. Alex was already smart, though in his own chosen ways, but it was hard to imagine him with some sort of superintelligence.

  Ka
ren continued to read from her file, “So,” he said, “the danger is real that such superior artificial intelligences could take over the world.”

  Michael tried to picture Alex as some master-of-the-universe-type character. It was almost funny. Almost…And what would the government—or a church—do with Alex once they got their hands on him or his technology? That was an even scarier thought.

  “Hawking was studying the universe, right? Not AI?” Michael said.

  “True,” Karen said, reading from the report, “but before he died, he warned that the efforts to develop artificial intelligence and create thinking machines could spell the end of the human race. Personally, I’m afraid AI may replace humans altogether. Someone will design AI that improves and replicates itself. It would be a new form of life that outperforms humans.”

  She pulled another page out of her file and looked up at Michael. “There’s something else, too.”

  Karen had a way of leading up to things, her good-natured way, Michael thought, of torturing him.

  “I’m sure this is unrelated but while doing my research I read about the suspicious death of two people down in Raleigh, North Carolina, a Brett and Laura Adams. This happened just a year ago. They supposedly were two of the top researchers in the field of artificial intelligence.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They burned to death when their house caught fire—but it was ruled suspicious. The police found evidence of some sort of a bomb that they believe started the fire.”

  “Interesting. That’s it?”

  She pulled out more documents, news clippings. “They had moved to the Research Triangle area, then suddenly, seemingly, retired. No one around them was sure even where they’d made the money to do that. All of this came out after their deaths, when the police started looking into their background.”